Coincidences
by Immokk
Summary: New lives,new homes,old loves...as the past catches up with Erik things spiral into a sea of tension and disloyalty.Can a once unrequited love save the life of an old enemy?
1. Unexpected Encounter

**A/N Don't own any of it… if anyone can think of a decent title please let me know, I'm terrible at titles.**

**Chapter 1- An Unexpected Encounter**

The harshness of the English wintertime crashed into the buildings of London with the darkness of the clouds overcoming any possible glimpse of the sunlight its inhabitants seemed to so desperately need. People were huddled together or under their shawls and thick clothing, if they could afford such luxuries. If they could not they tried to close their bodies to the lashings of wind and rain hammering their backs as they wandering along the cobblestones running their everyday busy errands for their everyday existence.

Their miserable little lives seemed entwined with the gothic tendencies of the weather and as the wind and rain slowed and stopped, there was the realisation that if you wait an hour in England the weather will at some point be to your liking. Still, even without the cool rain the afternoon remained cold and thoughtless.

Until…

It had been so long since he had watched the street light, any light, slide down her dark, silk hair. And it had been so long since he had caught a glimpse of her lips so blood red and consuming. It had been so long…

And yet there he stood studying her face from the distance of the clock, she looked so tiny in the middle of that road with all the bustle of the Englishmen and women around her. She did not seem to notice their impatience nor did she feel the same urgency as they. But she stood still, in the middle of what seemed a river of people gushing in torrents around her, a rock yet not with the stature she had once held on the stage. He frowned and looked harder at her, there was something not quite right. He waited, stared then shook his head as he realized that yes, her face had changed. What was that on it altering its undeniable beauty? Could it be that she had aged in the seven years it had been? Not her surely, he thought, she was always a breath of youth and freshness in the dullness of his life.

It had been so long…

She was there alone which he at once thought unusual, this was the last thing he had expected when he had arrived in London only a few days earlier, to see her at all, let alone to see her by herself. He had had no intention of seeing her, not even from this distance. He was vividly aware that they had moved to London from Paris, an old friend had told him recently but London was a rather large place, what were the odds that he would find himself standing less than sixty feet from her? Perhaps fate had played its hand and what an evil little game fate could play.

She looked up slowly and then turned her head so it was as if she were looking straight at him but he didn't flinch, he did not move a muscle. It was not fear of her seeing him that froze him firmly to the spot. It was not love nor hate nor even disbelief and he shuddered as he realised that it was pure indifference which rooted him still. She stared for a moment longer before looking around her and as she did he slid his back to the wall so that when she looked up again, as she inevitably did, he was not there.

Christine's hand flew to her heart and for a moment she genuinely believed that she had seen something up in the clocks tower. Then her hand raised to her mouth to suppress the escaping giggle at her own insanity as a pigeon flew out from the height of the clock. After a further glance up she decided that her mind had most certainly deceived her and she continued to walk with her basket. She shook her head almost the entire way back to the house she now shared with Raoul because there was no way she could possibly have seen that. It was simply a pigeon in the clock tower and not, as she had feared, a white mask.

But part of her had wondered, and even hoped, if it were him because that part of her would always care for him and after all, it really had been so long…


	2. Shadow

**Chapter 2- Shadow**

Erik stepped out of the shadows of the clock and into the shadows of the city which he had learned, by the dullness of winter afternoons or the sheer nothingness of night, would hide him from the glances of unfamiliar faces and even less familiar accents. Should he happen to run in to anyone whilst out he would pull down his hat over his face and look at the ground, he simply seemed some what the anti social type. He played the part well, after all, he had had so much practice.

He had been in London for a couple of days and was so far finding it a distressing experience and with a pang of distaste he wished he had not come. He never did understand the hold that his friend had over him, she had indeed helped him but he had, on more than one occasion, repaid that debt to her. He shook the thought from his mind because for now he must concentrate on his return to the flat he had been renting. No one must see him, this was as important now as it had ever been.

Even seven years on and out of practice he was agile and quick as he bounced from alleyway to alleyway, his body merging into the blackness of the shadows, he himself becoming a part of them. His feet clicked along the cobbles and he moved with haste, in a few hours he would be in his friends company and, although he resented the need for the journey, even the harshness of his memories allowed him to miss her. But to miss someone was weak and he scolded himself regularly for the inconvenience of the thought.

He stopped for a second and stared at his reflection in the puddle of rain water at his feet, it was filthy and swirled with dirt but enough for him to see himself. He clenched his jaw and sighed then tugged his cape firmly around him... but again he looked down and lifted a hand to his lip touching the _good_ part, his reflection followed and looked more repulsed than he felt. If that were possible. Somehow that side of his face had been spared though why he didn't know but it had and he didn't complain. At least part of him was okay, oh sometimes nature was a harsh master. He touched the rim of his hat sliding his finger around it to flick the remaining water off it before setting off again with his back to the wall.


	3. Changing Tides

**Chapter 3- Changing Tides.**

'Hello Sweetheart,' said Raoul, one hand placed gently on Christine's shoulder the other removing his hat. She glanced up at him, with a soft expression, from the piano seat and smiled, patting his hand. He smiled at her and kissed her nose softly. 'How was your day?'

'It was fine, I'm trying to keep busy. You know how bored I get.' She replied, and, regretting the statement immediately, she stared at the piano keys frightened to look up and see the hurt in his eyes. She could feel then burrowing into the back of her head, burning through to her mind. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.'

Raoul glared hard at her, his body and soul willing her to turn around and face him, to see his anger, to see his frustration with her! He tried hard to suppress the burning rage in the pit of his stomach, bubbling in the acid which his tongue ached to spit out. He tried to push it back down to where it belonged, gone, but it was no good. Oh, good natured Raoul. Kind hearted Raoul. Not a care in the world, Raoul. Oh, but what they didn't know. And the more he tried to dig himself out of the anger the worse it seemed to become, the deeper he found himself in its gaping jaws, he could not kill it and before he knew it the words were out.

'I'm sorry I took you away from your precious Paris, your bloody opera. The only thing you ever seem to care about! What about me?? What about my life? My part, my business and life? Does that matter?!? AT ALL'

And as he yelled he felt Christine's heart ache and as she turned he saw the pain shoot across her face, and the tears were there but he knew they would not come. They never did anymore, he didn't seem to warrant that kind of emotion anymore.

She sat perfectly still but felt her soul jump inside her body. Oh, Lord, she did not mean to anger him, she never did, but it appeared that everything she did or said angered him lately. They had been married for a little under seven years now, at first they were good and spent in Paris, in their home, but they had turned into seven long years. And still she had loved him with just about everything she could give but these moods were becoming impossible and she just didn't understand. In a heart beat his mood would snap back on itself and he would be furious at the smallest things. It was true that she missed the opera, it was true that he had taken her away but that had not mattered as much as their love so she had gone along with it. However, it was also true that she got terribly bored, there were only so many times she could walk the streets of London. They were really not that safe and shouldn't she be able to talk to him, her husband, her friend about this?

'I'm sorry,' She whispered and in that moment he stopped and turned away. With his back to her he simply said.

'I should not take it out on you'.

Take what out on me? She thought, as he left her alone.


	4. Old Friend

**Chapter 4- Old Friend.**

'Ugh,' Erik grunted as he half opened his eyes. He rolled to his side on the hard mattress which was so unbearable his sadistic side enjoyed sleeping on it. With the roll he felt his back crack slightly and he stretched his legs out with the satisfaction a cat seems to have when licking at his cream. He glanced to the mantel clock and as he waited for his focus to return he rubbed the back of his neck hard, sleep was good, when it came, he thought.

He stood slowly and wandered over stiffly to look out of the window. Gently he used a finger to push the netting aside, nearly eleven o clock and darkness was finally surrounding the city like a cape. He smiled to himself with the almost delirious thought that this was the first real night he had seen since he had been in London and night was his domain, night was his shelter, night was his sanctuary and he enjoyed it so. It soothed him, physically and somewhat mentally and made him free because in the city no one dare look at you in the dark as they hunch their bodies to cope with the onslaught of the wind and their minds rattle with the fear of who or _what_ you may be. If only they knew he thought and then peered out of the window again.

The wind was almost non existent tonight and the trees that littered the area as if it they did not belong there were almost completely still. Their bare branches touched the stars with a what seemed a remarkable gentleness and the velvet of the sky lay softly on the roof tops behind.

He let the net fall back into position and lifted a clean shirt from the back of the chair. He slid the shirt over his shoulders, it was cold and crisp against his stony skin and he buttoned it slowly, thinking about how the rowing to and from the lake in the past had helped his physique. Shame about the face he thought and with the sudden frustration that followed he resisted the urge to smash the mirror on the opposite wall and instead threw his blanket over it. At least now he could not torture himself into a darker mood, he thought and finished dressing himself, he would hate to be late now.

BREAK Break Break BreakBreakBreak

The knock at the door was sharp, quick and sudden but did not surprise her in the least. She had been waiting for a little over an hour but had not honestly expected him any earlier than this. Still she had been ready at 10:30.

She opened the door and was greeted by the cold white mask and dark hat which she so hated and a body covered entirely in black. So much black, she thought, that if it weren't for the mask he may have disappeared into the cool night completely. She nodded an acknowledgment in his direction and stepped aside gesturing that he may enter. He obliged with a nod of his own and lifted his hand to remove his hat. He looked at her stepping into the warmth and handed his hat to her. She took the hat and held her arm out for his cloak, and in a brief hope, his mask, but the hope was short lived. He chose to keep the cloak and the mask and at this she couldn't help but allow a smile to form over her thinning lips.

'Bon soir Monsieur fantôme, comment êtes-vous?' She asked as she closed the door and ushered him into the sitting room, with a quick motion of her hands she offered him a seat and set about pouring him a drink from the cabinet across the room. As she poured she smiled to herself at the thought of his wince at the use of 'phantom', her inside was grinning as she handed him his whiskey and she was pleasantly surprised when he answered her only partly in French.

'Bon soir Antoinette, Je suis bien.' He said. 'And how are you?'

'I am well enough, Erik. You have been practicing.' She said her French accent puncturing the sentence in such a way it seemed to let light through the gaps. She smiled at him and he mustered a forced smile in return. He had never really been one for emotion and the smile faded much faster than it had appeared.

'I pick things up quickly, including languages.' He sighed. 'You don't look well, Madame.' He said with a formality which she had never been able to convince him to leave in the dungeons of his mind. This time it was her turn to sigh and she shrugged.

'Let's dispense with the pleasantries shall we? You have indeed tweaked my mildly curious nature. Why am I here?' He said and again she sighed and gracefully lowered herself to her own seat closer to the blazing fire. He watched her and in spite of himself felt a sudden urge to leap up and help her.

'If that is the way you will have it.' she replied. 'I am on my death bed, Erik. By next month I will be gone.'

'Oh.' He said with a nod and for an instant fought back the sting of his tears pricking his eyeballs. He glanced at his hand holding the cold glass and with the recognition that his fingers were white, he loosened his tense grip on it.

Her cold eyes softened as she looked in his direction and she rested her hands on the arms of the seat. She thought for a moment about how delicately she should deal with him now. She wasn't quite sure of his feelings she never was and had often thought quietly that neither was he. Should she treat him with care or had her news pushed him enough off guard for her to just say it… She drew it a deep breath and prepared herself.

'I had hoped, Erik, that perhaps you might see Christine, while you are here.'

He returned his eyes to her direction and blinked in disbelief at the cheek of the woman. His heart thudded in his chest as he fought his natural reaction to pounce and throttle her on the very spot she sat. No, she saved your life fool, she means well. She must mean well. Either that or her illness, whatever it was, had taken her mind with it.

'This is unlike you.' He said flatly. 'I had prepared myself for all sorts. Even, Antionette, for the announcement of your expected death. This I had not prepared for.' And this time it was her turn to nod at him. He stared at her and she never once flinched from his gaze, she was not afraid of him now, certainly not with death waiting. But he was sure she had never feared him before.

'I am trying to do on my imminent death the things I wish I had done so many years ago.' She said. 'I would not usually ask you to do such a thing as I know the damage done but I could not go to the earth without asking you to forgive her and see her once to tell her what you told me only four months ago. Or have you forgotten.'

For a moment he sat in silence, astounded.

'I will not go. You realise this?' He said, coldly. She nodded.

'I think I know but I felt I must try.'

'I told you that because it is the truth. I have not forgotten but I have forgiven her, she could never be with m' He paused, debating in his own mind. 'You know, I saw her today.' He said and her eyebrows raised in surprise causing him to smile involuntarily at her reaction. 'No, not deliberately and not to speak to. She didn't see me, either, she is blissfully unaware that I am here. I do believe it is best like that. It is over. It was over many years ago. She has her Victome and I have my solitude.'

And with this he rose from his seat slowly and turned his back on the faithful Madame Giry for possibly the last ever time until…

…until she did something entirely unprecedented. She stood carefully and walked up behind him, she reached out and touched his shoulder softly and in the surprise he turned to face her only to be met by her arms firmly around his waist, pulling him close. For a moment he was too shocked to react, his throat caught a lump and he swallowed it back down, hard. He stood, frozen to the spot with her arms around him but then he raised his own hands returning her action by holding the ballet mistress near like the friend she had always been as he let a salty tear escape his cold eye.


	5. The Music

**A/N: ummm… better summary… hmm…. I will have a think about it and change it, thank you for the comment Doomed Delight. **

**AmberPalette: Thank you, I appreciate your time to read and review.**

**ModestySparrow: Same to you and I will be heading over to your piece shortly…**

**Excuse any typos… I write late at night and tend to miss things in the proof reads… then go back later and correct. I did a few corrections tonight but no doubt I have missed plenty.**

**Chapter 5- The Music**

She stared down at the piano and released a sorrowful sigh, how long had she been sitting here? She glanced at the window and noted that it was dark outside, it hadn't been when Raoul had left. She shook herself and wondered if he was back yet, she had been in such a daze she was sure that she wouldn't have noticed had he tapped her on the shoulder.

She stood and stretched then leaned over to light the candle on the corner of the piano. He always told her off for that, keeping the candle on the piano. He scolded her for not thinking of the heat and the damage hot wax might do to the beautiful, and expensive, instrument. She always grimaced when he mentioned the price, as if it were all that mattered in the world. He never thought that maybe she had the candle there for a reason, that it comforted her being so close and the light being so soft and warm. She licked the bitter taste of his words from her lips.

This piano.

He had often made her wonder why he ever bought it for her if not so that she could do as she pleased with it. He was unhappy when she played it, although she considered herself rather good and he was unhappy when she didn't play it because it was a gift.

Still, he didn't like her to play it and she understood at least part of his reasoning. He hadn't wanted her to continue to sing and to her, at the time, that was fine. She hadn't wanted to sing either because that part of her had belonged to someone else.

A person that both of them had wished to forget about.

She remembered his words on the subject and she recalled her own response. She had said that it was probably a blessing that she would no longer have the stress of needing to touch perfection almost every night. Raoul had never been pushy about it, no, nor had he been possessive. He had been concerned and that is what she loved most about him, that he had a good heart and a kind nature. It was the _reason_ she loved him. It wasn't the money or the status that made her heart skip a beat and it wasn't his dashing good looks... She smiled to herself as her mind drifted over his chiselled good looks. No, that wasn't why she loved him _that_ was just a bonus.

She loved her husband because he was kind.

But her smile soon faded to a frown and she gulped back her emotion as she thought about the change that had come over him in the last year or so. She truly didn't understand it. Now he was evasive when they spoke, he disappeared at all hours and was uncharacteristically bad tempered. And he always looked so tired. Her heart cried for him, to him.

Oh Raoul.

What's wrong? What have I done?


	6. History

**Chapter 6- History**

Erik leant with his back rested against one of the strong trees lining the river watching the water tumble over itself in a rage he understood so well. He believed water was almost as human as he, if it were that he were human at all. When it was like this, so raging and violent it was as wonderful to watch as it was frightening and indecisive. Yet when it was still it was so magnificent in it's complexity, it's reflections and it's colours. Yet under that calm exterior swirled a rampant current of power and unpredictable thoughts. And water was undeniably dangerous, he thought with a smirk.

He ran his hand along his uncovered jaw and rubbed his chin and neck softly as he stared and listened to the river but it could not stop his mind from working. He thought of Antoinette Giry and her news for him and his eyes began to ache. What would life be like without her solid dependability in answer to his punctured chaos? In less than a month she would no longer be there and who would rescue him then? His mind flirted with the past as he remembered her.

The first time she had been a teenager and he a boy with a travelling show shadowed with the sneers and jeers of the crowd. There she had been in the crowd with an apple but without the same expression as the other repulsed on lookers. Her eyes had portrayed a horror that had shocked him to the core for it had not been horror at the sight of his torn flesh but horror at the way he was being treated. That same night she had returned and freed him from the clutches of the circus he had been trapped within. She had guided him to the cellars of the opera house, she had touched his hand. She had touched him. And he remembered her words to this day.

'_I am Antoinette, what is your name?'_

'_Erik,'_ He had just managed to choke back. And she had looked at him with soft eyes.

'_You must hide here but I will bring you food tomorrow. And clothes, yes, I will bring you clothes. I know it will be cold tonight but I will bring blankets tomorrow also.'_

He had simply nodded his appreciation.

'_Erik, it is important that you stay here. If you are caught you will be killed. Do you understand?'_

Again his only answer was to nod and with that she had left him there, under the opera house, alone. He had not expected her to return and had explored the damp cellars through the night as it was impossible to sleep with the excitement of a jail break whizzing around his mind. He found it to be cold but bearable and rather interesting. It was huge and there was such a magnificent lake. Over the years he found that he could get into just about any part of the theatre from down there. He had found it so wonderfully free from all that had haunted him.

There were no mirrors.

The next day Antoinette had returned with the things she had promised him so earnestly the night before. She saw him everyday for the first few weeks, although they rarely spoke, after all what was there to talk about? She had fed him and bought him books and candles to read them under. After the first few weeks her visits became less frequent but their conversations had become longer.

He had found ways to fend for himself and he had begun, out of the gifts from his friend and things he had found during the night in the theatre, to build himself a home. Slowly he began to master the labyrinth of tunnels and later he built a boat, an oar, a bed and a chair. He furnished it with old costumes from the past shows and he made himself clothes. And he had learned so much from the books Antoinette had given him. He devoured the books, he realised he loved them for the knowledge they gave him.

She saw him less but when she did manage to see him she had given him more books. Every time a new book and in the end he had to build shelves to house them, they were starting the make the dirt look untidy.

Before he knew it years were passing and he was growing taller, his body was filling out and his voice was deepening with the time. Then he found an organ and with his friends help had managed to have it discretely transported to his new home. He polished it and mended it and tuned it back to perfection, he realised he could sing. He had a voice so beautiful it seemed impossible that it could come from his mutilated face. But it did and he practised often and hard, determined not the waste the one gift that nature had afforded him.

He was man and Antoinette a woman with a new husband whom she adored for many years. Who gave her a child she had named Meg and spoke of fondly. But the ignorant fool had left her, it seemed he had been unfaithful and although her coolness did not allow her to show it, she was heart broken. And he was furious. The anger seemed to come from places he did not know existed and he revelled in the glorious emotion. He did, however, resist the urge to hunt him down and slit his throat for his incompetence.

He shuddered at the thought and balled his fist before jamming it into his pocket, away from the wind. Again he stared at the water and thought of the second time she had helped him. No, she hadn't helped him. She had saved him. She had saved him a second time and he was forever grateful for her kind soul behind that cold exterior. She had saved him from his lair, from the mob, _track down this murderer_…

He ran his hand back over his face and shook the thought from his crowded mind, he did not want to be back there at that time. It was history now.


	7. The Vitcome

**A/N: Thanks again Modesty… I'm going to finally get around to setting up an alert for your story. I'm always intrigued by E/OC's **

**I still haven't decided which direction to take the whole relationship thing. It probably WON'T be RC… I know how the story will pan out in every other respect… not sure about the relationship yet.**

**There will be more dialogue soon between characters, I'm just trying to establish some history and characterisation. **

**I am not a Raoul 'basher' as it were and I put his character in a sympathetic light as well as I can… he isn't my favourite, obviously, but I don't quite hate him. **

**Chapter 7- The Victome **

The morning sunlight oozed through the cracks in the drapes and lit Christine's sleeping face, highlighting her almost perfect cheek bones. Raoul let out a stream of warm air from his mouth and touched her hair, tucking it back behind her ear carefully. His eyes drifted over her form laying over the piano and he swallowed with the regret that he had been out all night again. He was sorry he had caused her to wait up for him again and didn't mean to leave her alone so much but there was trouble brewing and he needed to deal with it. Sometimes that kept him out late.

He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair and kneaded his neck with impatience. He looked down at his own body and realised how dishevelled he looked, dirty almost. He glanced over at the mirror and an ogre glared back, tired eyes and a rough chin certainly did not suit his handsome frame. His clothes hung off him like he was a beggar in the old square which made him sick to his soul, how had he become this man?

He sat in the chair beside the piano and took in the surroundings, the beautiful instrument, the beautiful décor, his beautiful wife… and how he loved her. She had noticed his moods, as had the help, and he knew that soon he would have to tell her or stop. But he knew that he could not, nothing had ever been plain sailing with Christine. Not since the moment he met her.

_He had met her so many years ago when they were both children, he a little older but they became friends in a peculiar way. The day he met her was cold and blustery and the wind had whipped her scarf from around her neck and sent it flying into the sea. There it lay being slowly carried further out and she began to cry at the sight of the item bobbing up and down in the waves. She had, at first, stepped out as if to follow it in and rescue it, but Raoul had been there and he waded in after it and finally, after much ado, had retrieved it for her. _

_He had loved her since that moment, he thought, but things altered when her father died and she was forced to move away. He had no idea where she had gone or who she had gone with, only that she was gone. His companion. _

_It was nearly ten years ago that he had found her again, by chance, when he entered a new business venture at the Opera Populaire. _

_She was singing like an angel in the middle of that huge stage, lungs full with voice and the power and passion that overwhelmed him. He barely recognised her at first, she had lost the puppy fat of her childhood and was the most perfect specimen a women could possibly be. She had seen him too and he was caught in the song, in her amazing voice, in her beauty. If only he had known that night that she was not singing for him._

Her sigh snapped him back to reality. The sun was oddly warm on his back and combined with his lack of sleep, it made him drowsy. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as Christine stirred and began to prop herself up on the piano top. He wondered if she had been playing all night and allowed himself a smile at the thought of her entertaining the servants, as she so often did when he was out. They were always so unhappy when he returned as her playing stopped, which was partly his fault.

'Good morning,' He said and stood to help her from the bench and into the chair. 'Were you in here all night again?' He asked.

'Is it morning already, Raoul?' She gasped as she searched frantically for her clock. 'What time is it?'

'It is shortly after nine, I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.' He said and kissed the top of her head protectively. 'So beautiful.'

She smiled, resting her head against his side and he slipped an arm over her gently.

'I have had Helen draw you a bath, it should be nearly ready now, darling.' He said and shot her a smile. 'I will change and you should bathe and then perhaps, we can take breakfast in the park? The weather is perfect, though cold. What do you say?'

She returned his smile with a ginger hesitation as her mind whirled to how she had ended up sleeping on the piano. How he had been gone for the entire night and had not even mentioned it this morning, let alone apologised. But perhaps he had had time to think about his behaviour, maybe breakfast was just what they both needed.

**A/N: Short chapters are a thing I seem to do regularly… but I try to update quickly or two chapters at a time, so forgive me!**

**(02/02/05) Added some to this chapter…**


	8. Temper, Temper

**Chapter 8- Temper, Temper.**

'Open! Open NOW,'

And the hammering continued… bang, bang, bang… and Erik's temper grew hotter by the second. Was this man trying to cave the door in? He stared in the direction of the banging and grimaced as the sound became louder. For a second he considered using his shoe laces as a form of lasso and squeezing the life out of the obviously unrefined oaf on the other side of his door. Briefly, when the ungodly racket had first woken him, he actually thought it was his own door the fool was attempting to smash down. Not that that mattered to Erik, he had still woken him and the man was still dancing on Erik's last nerve.

With what Erik hoped would be a final effort, the 'gentleman' seemed to crack the door, the sound was so deafening that Erik raised at hand to his ear and still the idiot continued to shout, his voice was gruff and unbearable. In a fit of temper Erik leapt to his feet and stormed to the door, his impatience swelling in his chest, he flung it open. There in front of him stood a short balding man, with a poorly kept beard and a red nose. The mere sight of this fool made his blood boil under his skin.

'What, Sir, is the problem exactly?' Erik seethed in the doorway but managed, through some miracle of his voice, to remain evenly toned. The man stared in shock and stuttered some poorly structured sentence about rent and late and something about a mask…

'And my mask is your business is it, Sir?' He growled and his frame blocked the light to the hallway. 'What do you think you are doing knocking the corridor out so early? Some of us have been travelling and have PAID our rent for the time we have been here and in which case would like to have some peace and quiet in a morning! Who are you? What is your name?'

'Ro… Robert… I'm the house manager…'

With these words the other door cracked open slightly and out of it peered two delicately brown eyes surrounded by a very young face. She stared too, but not at Erik, instead her glare was aimed at the fool in front of him. And somehow, from somewhere, balding idiot gained some courage.

'This isn't anything to do with you, now if you would just head back to your room me and the young lady here got some business…'

'It is when my sleep has been interrupted.' Erik snarled and he glanced at the girl. 'How much is it, exactly, that she owes you, Sir?'

_Robert_ looked at him and Erik was sure he was about to tell him it was no concern of his when he obviously thought better of it. He appeared to be thinking and Erik could almost envision the clogs of his mind grinded around and clearing almost three decades of dust.

'She owes me almost one pound sterling… She hasn't paid me since she came!'

Erik looked at her and then back at Robert before digging his hand into his pocket and producing a couple of coins, which he then flicked at the man.

'That should cover her rent for a while longer. I am not to be disturbed again, am I understood?'

Robert responded with a nod and scurried out of the corridor and finally out of sight.

Erik's head pounded against the sides of his skull, what a stupid thing to do, he thought and massaged his temples firmly. Now he had been seen by two people, something he had hoped would not occur. He wondered how quickly the news of the man in the mask would spread around London and decided that it mattered not, as he intended to be leaving soon enough. He had seen all that London had to offer him. And with this thought he turned and walked back into his room, he closed the door behind him and was startled to find the young lady from the hall sitting in his seat.

'Hi, I'm Rebecca…' She said and Erik would have been angry had he not been so astounded.


	9. Strange Coincidences

**Chapter 9- Strange Coincidences.**

'And what is it that you want, Rebecca?' He sneered at her but she didn't seem to notice, instead she greeted him with a grateful smile and his astonishment grew.

'To thank you, monsieur.' She said simply and he blinked at her accent.

'You're from France.'

'So are you.' She said, grinning playfully. He grimaced.

'There seems to be many French people in London currently, mademoiselle.'

He surveyed her face and decided that she was ugly, for a child that was and obviously not by his standards but ugly none the less. She was ugly because there was absolutely nothing unique about her. Her eyes were delicate, as he had thought earlier, but pale in colour and in no way captivating. Her cheek bones were there but that was all, her lips were thin and dull, her hair matted and unkempt. Yes, she was ugly he thought and it was at this point he realised that she was still talking.

'What?' he said, rudely but again it went without response and she repeated herself.

'Yes, many French people here. Many, I asked you when you came? To England?

'I haven't been here long. A few days.' He said and out of a curiosity, which he knew he would regret later, asked her when she came.

'Years monsieur, it has been years now but things are not right. The vitcome tells me he no longer require my _services_ and that I am to leave. He gave me little money for my trouble and sent me away. The Victomess she apologise, gave me a sorry hug and still, sent me away. My services, puh, indeed they…'

Erik was taken aback by the whole spiel and raised a hand to interrupt her monologue. She had spoken very quickly and he found, the quicker she spoke the deeper her accent became but the more high pitched the tone was. He shook his head.

'Don't you mean Lord? Or Count, Mademoiselle? Victome is French.' He asked with a strange feeling building in his muscles.

'Non, Monsieur. I came over_ with_ them and now they do this! Can you believe..?'

'You came with them? From where?' He asked, more startled by the second. She lifted her hand and flicked her hair out of her eyes then looked at him.

'Why do you wear that mask?' She asked, ignoring his question, and his fury fizzed in his veins. He stepped towards her and consciously made his hands remain at his sides.

'Because I choose to.' He snarled with the realisation that she was actually beginning to look worried. 'Where did you come from?'

'Paris,' She said, with a slight tremble to her voice. 'The De Chagney's bought me from Paris with them, I was supposed to look after their children.'

'And why can't you?' He asked, his own voice mocking her slightly for her obvious incompetence at the job she was given.

'Because they have none.'

His mind reeled at the thought, Christine had been alone when he saw her in the street yesterday and he had found this shocking but now it made sense. There were no children in their marital bliss, not one baby in seven years.

He was stunned into forgetting that the girl was there, his mind drifted to their home, or at least the way he imagined their home to be. Full of life and love and warmth with servants and friend. It had taken him so many years to build this image into his mind, that she was happy and he could never give her that. In his visions there had been many voices, those of the happy couple and those of children but his visions were wrong.

If there were no children what else had his inventions got wrong?

'No children and there is word that they are in some trouble.' She continued and this time he sat in the spare seat, listening intently.

'Trouble?' he asked with the first genuine interest he had felt in what the girl had to say.

'Oui.' She said and leaned forward. 'They say that the stresses of running the family estate alone got to him. They say he took to befriending strange people to take his mind away.'

'_Strange_ people?' He asked, attempting to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

'No?' She asked, realising that perhaps she had used the wrong word. 'Bad people? Drinking also. He was very bad tempered.'

'Bad tempered?' He said

'Oui and there is talk of another woman, monsieur.'

Erik could barely contain his shock and he stared at the young lady with curiosity, apparently there was not a cough in London that was not gossiped about. She return his look and slowly, he noticed, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable in his presence. What had taken her so long, he thought.

'These bad people… why will there be trouble with them?'

'I am not sure.' She answered playing with her nails. 'Some say he took a liking to one of the women he believed was a whore. She was not. She was married to one of the bad people.' She swallowed before continuing. 'They want to pay him back, call it er… disrespectful? Oui, yes, disrespectful. They want to make him suffer for bad judgement take him and my old mistress…'

With frightening speed he leapt out of his seat and was upon her in seconds. He seized her by her collar and dragged her from her seat, lifting her to his level, his face inches from hers.

'What? Where did you hear this?' He barked loosening his grip on her slightly, trying to compose himself. 'This is ridiculous. Idle gossip. You should do yourself a favour and ignore it…' He said as he noticed his heart was still pounding.

'No monsieur.' She gasped, tears welling in her ashen eyes. 'He…he spend all night out now' Stammering. 'Trying to get things right… but they won't. And she, Madame, she does not know.'

She does not know…


	10. Discoveries

**A/N: Sorry for the delay... I'm not a fan of this chapter but it is relevant so here it is. LOL, hope you like it.**

**I appreciate the reviews! **

**Chapter 10- Discoveries**

Rebecca sat trembling in her own apartment, her hands shook violently around the mug she was grasping and she stared at the door. She had honestly thought he was going to kill her and when he didn't she hadn't quite known what to do. He had jumped up so quickly with an unbelievable agility that she had not even had time to panic, not even with his hands gripping her collar. His anger was obvious and she stuttered as she answered his questions, although why he was asking so many questions, she did not know. His eyes were furious and even in their cold blue there it was as if there was an orange streak, burning into her own eyes.

He had terrified her.

However, as quickly as he picked her up he had dropped her and stared down at her slumped against the chair. Or at least she assumed he was staring at her, until she looked at him more closely. She realised he wasn't staring at her at all, he was staring right through her. She could tell, even with her limited intelligence, that he was barely even in the room. His mind was ticking over. And this time it was her turn to stare at him, his face, or at least the part of it she could see, was like stone. There was no expression and no colour, it could have been marble if there had been some gleam of light on it. All she could see, the life about him, was in his eyes.

And they _were_ beautiful eyes.

She had found him interesting more than anything, she didn't feel any attraction on her part and there was certainly none on his. He barely even recognised that she was a woman, particularly the way he grabbed her and heaved her out of the chair. She had felt like a child in his grasp as she realised his power. And suddenly he was almost attractive to her although frightening. The man was obviously a lunatic but he was a powerful lunatic.

And he had money.

She had seen him throw money at Robert like it was simply dirt making a nuisance of itself. Of course that was the main reason she had gone into his room, she had to seem thankful and she had spotted his French accent with some curiosity. It would give her something to talk to him about, alone in London, he must have been lonely and in some need of female company. Obviously she hadn't anticipated him throwing her up in the air and bearing down on her like a lion with his prey. Nor had she anticipated him being so cold, so emotionless, that is until the mention of the trouble the Chagnys were in. Odd.

But what about the mask?

Now that, she admitted to herself, was stranger than the conversation. He had snapped viciously at her when she had mentioned it and he didn't make any move to take it off, even though he was in his own room. The mask seemed simple enough from a distance, just a white cover which veiled half of his face, leaving a strong jaw and one bright eye clearly visible. However, when he had wrenched her from the floor and she had been close to it she noticed that it was a stone of some kind and not wood, as she would have estimated. And it didn't have a mark on it. She wondered what it was that he was hiding behind it and decided that she was probably better off not knowing, particularly factoring in his temper.

_**Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break/ Break**_

The room was dank and damp with smoke rising to the discoloured ceiling and lingering there, leaving the room with an unpleasant odour and a more unpleasant atmosphere. The bar keeper was a rotund man with a red face and was standing speaking with a well dressed gentleman in the corner of the room, there were two more gentlemen in the opposite corner having a conversation that no one really wished to overhear and finally, there were two men sitting on hard wooden stools at the harder wooden bar.

Robert could hardly believe his ears as he sat at the bar with an old friend in a seedy public house sipping badly fermented whiskey. He was so astonished that he had to ask his friend to recount the details once more, just for clarity.

'Seriously.' His friend said, gauging Robert's reaction. 'About 8 years ago it was, in Paris. I can't believe you haven't heard!'

'No, no, I haven't. Tell me again,' Robert said, eyes wide with anticipation. 'From the beginning'

'Well, in Paris there is a beautiful Opera house and in that opera house was a ghost. He haunted it for years and years until he met a woman there. I don't know all the details but he murdered two men!'

'Two men?' Robert asked, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. His friend nodded slowly with a grave look on his face.

'Yes, two men. And then kidnapped that girl and fled the cellars of all places!' He continued. 'A mob followed him but when they got there he had vanished. Disappeared into thin air!'

'And the girl?' Asked Robert?

'She was found with her fiance and she was fine and she hasn't spoken a word of it since. Said she didn't remember any of it. He was just gone.'

'Wow…'

'Well… the police are still looking for him! He did kill those poor souls… they think he might be dead though. I did until you told me what you saw! It must be the same man! He wore a mask! Over half of his face, as you described.'

Rpbert stared at his friend and swallowed hard, had he really had a confrontation with this man that day? And then the horror shot through his veins.

He had had a confrontation with that man and that man had murdered two men without any care or remorse. Suddenly he felt very sick and excused himself saying that he needed to get home as he was tired and must be awake early the next day. He was well aware without any mirror that the colour had drained completely from his face and, as he was leaving through the bar door, struggling to compose himself enough to get his coat on, his friend shouted after him.

'They call him the Phantom of the Opera!'


	11. Memories

**Chapter 11- Memories**

Christine sat in the living room of her massive home and stared vacantly into space, thinking of the situation she was in now. She had found breakfast more than awkward with Raoul and feigning to make it seem as if she were enjoying herself had given her a nasty headache. As she rubbed her forehead gently she thought about Raoul and his secrets and for a moment flirted with the idea that he was going to leave her, possibly for someone else. She dismissed the thought as he had hardly looked like his former self over the last few months. He had lost a considerable amount of weight but had been so busy doing Lord knows what that he had not found time to find clothes that fit him properly.

He was still clean but rarely looked it as it was rare he shaved his jaw and often he went for more than a week without having his servant do it meaning that he grew a rather ghastly looking beard. She considered that beards suited some men, it made them look manly but Raoul had always had a somewhat boyish face which certainly was not complimented by the hair. She missed her husband but the more he was gone the more she found ways to occupy her mind and she had managed to see more of Meg, whom in the first few months of living in England she had missed greatly.

Meg had moved over with her mother a couple or months after Christine did as both mother and daughter wanted a change and Meg had found work dancing with a London based opera. She was one of the stars of the ballet and Christine was so proud of her friend. They had taken lunch together on many occasions and she had noticed how beautiful Meg had become over the years. It seemed that her hair had lightened, grown and now had a beautiful bounce in it with slight waves down the length so that when the light touched it, it seemed golden. Meg's figure was slim and strong and she danced like an angel, she thought, and allowed herself a brief smile at the image of her friend wowing the audience with her elegant posture.

Christine had only seen Madame Giry four times since her move to London and was now fully aware that her old ballet teacher was terminally ill. It broke Christine's heart to think of her gone and more so to think that Meg would have to go through the same devastation as she did when she lost her father so many years ago. She knew, however, that Meg would cope nobly and that as her friend, Christine would be there for her whenever she needed a shoulder, as Meg had been for her so many times in the past.

She realised that night had come fast again and envied her dreams of Paris and the opera, as her memories could be there and she could not. There was a gentle tap at the door and she called the maid in, who informed her that her bed was ready for her, if she wished to go to it. Christine thought for a moment before sighing with the decision that perhaps it was lack of sleep that had her so down over the last couple of days. Or perhaps it was the all to familiar sight of what she thought was a mask in the town clock just over twenty four hours ago. Was she so saddened that it was merely a pigeon?

_**

* * *

**_

The darkness had drawn in quickly around London and the streets had lulled to the welcome silence of a city sleeping in its dark satin blanket. Rain had been held at bay for the day, the night was equally dry but incredibly cold and there was frost settling itself like silver on the cobblestones. Erik gazed across midnight and it seeped into his eyes illuminating the things that daylight hid. He couldn't concentrate, though, on the wonderment of darkness, not tonight, because all darkness brought him tonight was loneliness and perhaps even unusual moments of fear.

That ridiculous child had given him more information than he wanted or needed and he was at a loss for what to do about his newly acquired knowledge. He was staggered by the news that that were no children in the De Chagny home. Could it be that she was not able to give him heirs? Or was it the other way around, that the Vitcome was having certain problems of his own? He briefly allowed himself the fantasy that the couple's marriage was a total farce and that they did not even share a marital bed. But then… if they did in fact share a bed why was the Vitcome looking elsewhere for women. He had Christine Daae and any man who had that woman in his bed would be a fool to search elsewhere for he had perfection under his own sheets.

Erik shuddered and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and imagining her face, at it was, when she would look into the mirror. Her high rose coloured cheeks and soft jaw, complimented by that dark, silk hair and all of that surrounded deep, chocolate eyes which beckoned to every inch of his tortured soul.

He was only really alive when he could see her beauty for all it was, for all its innocence, for all its excellence.

_She had been so young and so ingenuous when he had first seen her alone on the stage practicing her dance for Madame Giry, the ballet mistress was certainly a strict teacher and Christine always aimed to please. He had found her room by chance one night when he was exploring his domain. He found that through a mirror which led to his catacombs he could see her every night. One night in early spring he heard her singing. She was an angel of face and spirit sent from God himself to torment Erik's very being. _

_It was months before he could bring himself to let her know, to tell her that he was there and her response was not of fear but of pure delight. She thought that he was an angel her father had sent to her. She believed with all her heart that it was Erik her father had sent to protect her, to guide her and to give her the glory of music. _

_And so he did. _

_Most nights he would sing softly to her from behind the glass and she would listen with such awe in her eyes as she knelt by the mirror… often she even hummed the tunes he had sung even when he was not there and it was at these moments he realised that he was constantly in her mind. And so, as the time progressed and he developed more confidence with her, and in her, he began to teach her, slowly, to make her as pitch perfect as he. Christine learned quickly as her ears and her soul latched onto the eloquent highs and lows of his voice that comforted her at night and kept her alive in the day._

_She often waited for him and in his crueller moments he would not sing nor speak but simply watch her anguish that he was not there. It was not cruelness for cruelness sake, though, it was for his own peace of mind. He needed to know that she wanted him there and that she missed him when he was not. She did. It soon became that she would balance on his every word, hanging there as if for her life, although he never said anything of any substance. Their 'relationship' was based on their mutual love of music and, of course, Erik's total, though unknown, adoration of her face. He could look at her for hours, she was more perfect than a painting with finer lines and softer tones. _

And as he drifted to sleep in the cold winter of London he fitfully dreamed of the trouble she was in but under this veil he remembered how much he loved her.


	12. Impasse

**Chapter 12- Impasse **

He woke with a start and stood stiffly, raising his hands out above his head and cracking his shoulder back to place. He rubbed his eyes and looked out of the window and then over to the clock, its face was showing 2 am and everything seemed still and well but his heart was pounding. Something was not right.

Erik threw on his jacket and headed towards the door, grabbing his cloak from the back of the seat on his way. Opening the door cautiously he peered around it, the hallway was dark and this was a fact he very much appreciated. He closed the door softly behind him so as not to wake Rebecca, the thought of another five minutes with her made the bile rise uninvited into his throat. He fled through the corridor, leapt down the stairs, landed with a small thud at the bottom and continued out of the building allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

He ran along the road, so quickly his feet barely touched the floor as moved. There was very little light tonight, the moon was nowhere to be seen and the clouds made for a poor view of the street ahead. Or at least it would have for anyone but him. He noticed that the fog was falling low and as he ran his ragged breath showed in clouds in front of him. His chest and legs began to ache but he still he made his way trough the back streets of London. Still he ran.

And ran.

* * *

Christine didn't know what was happening to her, one minute she was sleeping soundly in warm covers and now she was being dragged by her hair through the lobby of her own house. There were a lot of voices, male voices, coming from the living room and she heard Raoul but when she tried to scream for his help she was kicked in the stomach. She wretched violently, somehow she was not sick but the pain was almost unbearable. The brute dropped her in the lobby and growled at her to stay exactly where she was, she obeyed with tears streaking her cheeks and her stomach ablaze.

The man opened the living room door and she spotted Raoul with his hands tied behind his back and blood pouring from his nose. There were three men in there and one had a knife pointed at her husband's throat. Oh God, she thought defying her first instinct to run in there and try save Raoul. She would only end up dead herself and then what would become of him? No, she needed help, she thought and with a courage she did not know she possessed she managed to stumble to her feet and with all the energy she had left, she darted for the door.

She was already outside before any of the men noticed she was gone and then she heard a gruff voice shout after her. Keep running. Her feet somehow carried her through the pain and she flew down the alley next to the neighbour's house and suddenly there was a hand over her mouth and an arm around her stomach. Help me, she thought but she was trapped.

'Shut up.' Was the last thing she heard before she passed out.


	13. I Remember

**Chapter 13- I Remember...**

She stirred slowly out of her thick sleep, it felt like she was trying to wade through cotton wool and her eyelids were heavy. The light which trickled in through the slits of her eyes made them throb and her head was beating with her pulse. She squeezed her eyes shut again as the pain tore through her body and her stomach flamed, her hands flew to her body and she hugged herself tightly.

Christine swallowed her fear and opened her eyes with caution, for a second they were half open and as they adjusted she observed that there was no one around, she opened them fully. In front of her was a large wardrobe and small fireplace. She was lying propped up by pillows in a bed and noticed that there were two seats across the room.

But nothing else.

The room was completely devoid of all personal effects and was dull except for the small amount of natural light that the one window to her left, allowed in.

Her eyes shifted to the door and she stared at it, judging what her next move should be. She had no idea where she was all she knew was that she had been unconscious all night and that she did not know where Raoul was. She also knew that she was in trouble. She stood carefully, and looked down at herself thanking the heavens that she was still fully clothed, including her shoes. She ached from head to foot and her body cried out to her to lie back down but she couldn't. She needed to get out, to see the police, to do something.

On tiptoes she made her way across the room towards the door and every time a floor board creaked so did her nerves. When she reached it she carefully placed her hand on the door knob and turning it she tried to pull it open. At the discovery that the door was locked her composure began to crumble and she fell against the wall, anguished and crying. But something caught her attention.

Her eyes darted to the window and her heart swelled with hope as she warily made her way over to it and as she peered out she realised that she had no idea where she was. She didn't recognise anything she saw outside. It was not a busy road, there were no people walking along it nor were there any obvious landmarks. Just a few trees and a few buildings and slowly her hope began to diminish.

Then she glanced down and realised that unless she were to drop and risk herself further injury and maybe death, there was no way she could escape through this exit. She wiped her face with her hand as she detected sweat beads forming on her brow. She was truly trapped, she was a prisoner of one of those men and there was no way to break out. She walked back over to the bed and sat down, wincing as she did and bringing her hands to hold her stomach. The burning had not stopped and now, along with the pain, she felt sick at the thought that she would die. And that Raoul was already gone.

She didn't understand what had happened but she remembered it vividly. She had been awoken by noises from the front of the house and at first thought perhaps the servants were finishing cleaning. When the footsteps began on the stairs she had started to become frightened and before she had known it there was a tall man at her door. He had said nothing as he grabbed her hair and pulled her from her bed. He had literally dragged her, struggling, down the stairs and her body had bounced off every single step. She remembered being dropped in the entrance and then the man had kicked her in the stomach. She recalled watching the man walk away only to be shown Raoul bound and bloody with a knife at his neck.

She shuddered at the recollection of the blood coating his clothes and of the horrific fear spread across his handsome face. The floor was cold and harsh on her soft skin and her stomach was hurting but she knew that she had needed help. She remembered that she had somehow managed to bring herself back to her feet and with some miracle found the ability to run. And run she had, out of the door, down the front steps and along the street in an overwhelming haze. It was dark and the fog was thick and she hadn't really known where she was running to but she had made it to an alleyway before stopping. How foolish it had been to stop, she thought. She had been caught and now she did not know where she was or what had happened but…

That voice.

Before she had passed out she had heard the man speak and she may have dreamt it but she thought she recognised it.

And as the notion flooded her aching brain she looked once more around the room and right ahead of her was a mirror almost completely covered with a blanket.


	14. Loose Ends

**Chapter 14- Loose Ends**

It was dark and smelled damp, the floor was covered in water or some other liquid and every time Raoul tried to sit up his hands slipped in it and he landed flat on his face. The blood, which had dried to his face and neck, had begun to crust off and his back ached badly. He could barely see anything but there was a small amount of light coming from above him through what looked like a ceiling made of bars. Raoul wasn't a fool and it didn't take him long to realise that he was in a prison of some description and that he was alone without a clue as to Christine's well being or her whereabouts.

He wasn't tied up but that didn't matter, he barely had the strength to stand let alone to attempt an escape. And how could he possibly escape when he could hardly see his hands in front of his face, let alone a door or a hatch. He hadn't remembered much after Christine had run from the lobby, much to his pride. She had of course been chased but the man who had followed came back after only a few minutes empty handed. Raoul remembered the relief he had immediately felt when he realised that she had somehow managed to run faster. The next thing he remembered was a sharp pain in the back of his head and then waking up in the pit he was lying in now.

He wondered if they would try to find Christine and whether or not they would kill him.

What had he done?

* * *

Robert didn't know what he had seen and wasn't sure that he wanted to find out. He had sat all night nursing his head in the front office, in the pitch black so that no one would see him. His throat was dry and the whiskey was barely touching it as he sipped from the bottle and stared into space.

It had been just after three in the morning when he had seen the masked man leap down the stairs and run from the building, he had scared Robert half to death. After his pulse had returned to a normal speed he had swigged harder on the whiskey and trembled in the corner of the office, on the floor, trying to decide what he should do about the madman in his apartment.

At four the madman had returned but he wasn't alone. In his arms he had what looked like a woman, or at least the long hair suggested a woman. The problem was that this woman was not moving. Robert had managed to bring himself to his feet, even through his fear, and watch through the window in the office door. No, she was definitely not moving, she certainly didn't look like she was breathing and Robert was sure that there was blood on her cheek.

At this point he regressed to his previous mode of drinking whiskey and dithering in the corner, at least the door was locked and he was safe for now. There was really only one thing he could do and that was to wait for the lunatic to return and slip out to notify the police of what he had seen. Then the police would protect him, and the Phantom or whoever he was, would never be able to kill another innocent person again.


	15. Pour Toujours

**A/N: Well, thanks for the reviews, I have just started back at Uni for my last semester and so I am updating slower than I would like. Please forgive the short chapter but I _have _put in two… and this one contains Erik AND Christine… RR**

**Chapter 15- Pour Toujours**

The room was eerily quiet as Christine sat staring at the mirror, resisting the urge to sift through the contents of the wardrobe. The sigh she let out was low and pained, the aching hadn't eased but the nausea had, much to her relief. She was propped up against the headboard, legs stretched out straight in front of her, when she heard the clicking of a key in the door.

She struggled to lie down on her front so that her face couldn't be seen properly because she still wasn't sure if she was right to assume the identity of her captor and didn't want to be caught off guard. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing as best she could and feigned sleep, just as the door opened.

Erik walked in carrying a bag and closed the door softly behind him. He lay the bag on the first seat and quietly sat in the other, angling it to face the bed. She had rolled over, he thought, as he noted her hair spread softly across the pillow and covering part of her face. Her presence made the room a much more welcoming space, it somehow seemed lighter than when he had left, and he couldn't help but let his eyes explore the curve of her back and thighs.

He ran his fingers through his hair nervously and listened to the delicate sound of her breathing and allowed it to briefly soothe his mind. As he listened, his conscience drifted to places he thought only God could take him and it was a moment before he realised, or acknowledged, that her sleep was false.

He eased himself to his feet and slowly walked to the bed, sitting on its edge next to Christine, he sighed gently. At first he could barely look at her in the knowledge that by now she would know it was him, if she hadn't last night when she heard him. He glanced down at his hands and closed his eyes, his mind begging someone to allow this to be okay. Slowly he turned and faced her, her eyes were still closed and even with the blood on her face she was a statue, sculpted by the angels.

'Christine…' He whispered, softly. 'Christine, I know you're awake.'

Her eyes opened slowly and focused on his chest, he took in her beauty, even shattered as she was her eyes were soft and tender. She blinked and looked at his chest, his hands, his leg but not his face. He watched her discomfort with sorrow, he could not make the situation easier on her and he couldn't make it so that he was someone else rescuing her.

She couldn't look at him because she didn't know how she would react to seeing him again. It had been such a long time and in her mind she thought that if she didn't look at him then maybe he wouldn't be there and this wouldn't be so difficult.

'Christine, are you okay?' He asked, immediately recognising the stupidity of the question but what else could he say? What was there to say to her now?

'I'm okay.' She said with a small nod, her eyes still diverted to anywhere but his face. He stood, giving her some room and walked over to the bag. When he did she sat up and found the courage to look at him, he had changed, she thought. The mask was still brilliant white but his face was not so pale and he was not so thin.

He dug into the bag, pulling out a fresh towel and some sort of lotion he walked back over to her, this time _his_ eyes avoiding _her_ face. He held the small towel in one hand and poured some of the lotion onto it with his other anxiously he reached out and touched her face with the towel. He trembled as he wiped the blood from her cheek and gently pushed her hair back, cleaning her forehead. He washed her cheeks and chin and touched her throat before she reached up and took the towel away, finishing herself. He was surprised she had allowed him that much.

'Are you hurt?' He asked, hardening his tone. She looked up at him and her eyes locked to his for the first time. For a moment they stood the in what seemed like perpetual silence, a never ending second, a lifetime staring into each others souls. It was she whop broke it, with a blink.

'I think I am.' She replied, groggily and wiped her face over with the dry section of the towel.

'Where?' He asked and watched her carefully. She dropped the towel in her lap and touched her stomach softly.

'I was kicked…' She said and forced herself to swallow back tears of pain and anguish. He looked at her and the anger bubbled in his blood at the thought of someone kicking her delicate body.

'Have you been sick?' He asked.

'No and there's no blood, just a bruise from what I could see, I find it difficult to bend down to look. I'm not hurt anywhere else, not physically.'

Erik nodded and knelt on the edge of the bed, looking at Christine's face.

'Lie down.' He ordered and she did without question, she had no energy to ask questions. He leaned over and gently undid three buttons of her night dress, opening them up slightly to reveal the skin of her stomach.

She fought a gasp and the urge to grab him and tell him to stop. She knew from experience that he was not doing anything that would hurt her but her nerves jangled none the less.

He forced his hands to stop shaking and looked at the bruise. With a nod he stood and filtered through the bedside cupboard. He stood up and wandered back to the bed with another lotion.

He rubbed his hands together quickly, warming them, before pouring some lotion into one and then rubbing it into both hands. He then softly applied it to Christine's bruise before re fastening her night dress and standing beside the bed.

'There.' He said fighting the emotion from his voice. 'That will help, apply it a couple of times a day. It will bring the bruise up quickly and therefore it will heal quickly'

'Okay…' She said and he noticed how uncomfortable she looked. He knew that he shouldn't have touched her at all but her vulnerability had crushed him and he needed to help her.

It was a few minutes before Christine's mind began to work over and she got up from the bed, anger flooding her veins as she glared at Erik watching her. Why was he here? There was no such thing as coincidence and the realisation shook her to the core. Had he…?

'What have you done?' She yelled and glowered at him.


	16. Decisions

**A/N: Thanks for the review, Amber. I'm still not sure how it will turn out but I do have several ideas. I'm still looking for a decent title, that's a bigger work in progress than the actual story.**

**Hope you like this chapter.**

**Chapter 16 – Decisions.**

Erik grimaced at the tone of her voice, so different from thirty minutes earlier, when she was so weak and vulnerable. Sometimes he forgot that she was older now, with more years came more experiences and often more confidence. He looked at her, waiting for the accusations to start flying, of him 'stalking' her and of following her around, of course she had questions. So had he. But he wasn't sure if this was the time or place to address either. _What have you done?_

'Where is Raoul?' She screamed, face turning a deep pink. 'Where is he? What have you done to him?'

The room was silent with the question and the wind whistled outside the window. The temperature in the room had dropped with the mood and Erik found himself almost shivering as he looked at her. He hadn't expected that question and it shook him.

'Nothing.' He replied and looked at her face, still reddened, still furious. He wondered where the anger had come from as in Paris even in the most awful of situations her temperament had been soft and he didn't remember her ever really losing it.

'Liar.' She said, simply and stared right back at him, eyes burning him with their intensity. 'Where is he?'

'I don't have him, I am here with you.'

'And how is it that you are here with me?' She said, stepping closer to him. She glared and moved forward, arms by her side, emotions high and flaming. Erik stood perfectly still and watched her gain ground, what the hell was she going to do?

'Don't you think that if I wanted him gone I could have done it years ago?' His voice growled but somehow he remained cool.

'I don't believe you,'

'Listen to me Christine. I do not have Raoul, I do not know where he is. Do you understand? I am here visiting Antoinette Giry' He explained, still calm. 'She invited me over.'

Christine considered it for a moment and suddenly her hands flew to her face, tears escaping her eyes and sobs forcing their way from her hoarse throat. Erik watched in anguish as her body crumpled to the seat and she sat, weeping, almost forgetting he was there. Her back shuddered and her shoulders rocked as the sobs contorted her shape, hunching her in to the seat like a chastised child. He fought the yearning to grab her and hold her tight so she could cry to his chest and he could comfort her and make everything alright.

But he stood, frozen to the spot, staring at her.

'Christine…' He said, softly and she slowly lifted her face from her hands. Her eyes were damp and red, they looked sore but as quickly as it had begun the crying stopped. Something in his voice, something she had always been drawn towards had made her stop. She wanted to hear what he had to say and she wanted to hear it that second. She nodded for him to continue and with a sharp nod back he sat on the edge of the bed.

'I received word from Madame Giry that she wished to see me. Here. In London.' He said, clearing his throat with a dry cough. 'I knew you were here, it's true, but I didn't plan to see you. Only her, she is my friend.'

Christine nodded again acknowledging a truth she had never been told but had always suspected.

'She wanted me here to tell me in person that she is dying. It was her way of tying up loose ends, I happened to be one of them. I think rather of fondly of her and I'm glad that I saw her one last time before she leaves us.'

She watched his face for signs of emotion and as usual, she found none but she knew from experience that it was there, deep beneath the surface struggling to stay down.

'I was walking last night, as I couldn't sleep.' He lied. 'I saw you running. I saw that man and I knew you were in danger. Instinct told me to help you and then you passed out in my arms so I carried you here.' He said, sweeping his arm around to illustrate the room they were sitting in, it's stale yellow walls which looked dirty and old, the damp creeping in from above.

'Where are we?' She asked, still looking at him. He smiled.

'My palace' He quipped. 'Quirky, don't you think?'

Despite her attempt not to she returned his smile and wiped her face with her fingertips.

'It's certainly something' She replied but the smile faded and her mood became serious once more. 'So, if it wasn't you. Who was it?'

'I…' He stalled, thinking of the truth. 'I don't know.'

'Oh God, Raoul,' She cried. 'We must find him.'

'WE?' Erik exclaimed and stared at her.

'Yes, please Erik we have to rescue him.'

'What makes you think he's still alive?' He asked, slightly amused though hiding it well.

'He must be,' She said. 'He has to be.'

'Why? Just because you want him alive doesn't mean that he will be, Christine. Not everything revolves around your whims.'

With this insult she leapt to her feet, enraged, and bolted for the door and pulled it open but as quick as lightening Erik was in front of her, slamming the door back shut and standing in front of it. He glared down at her and she met his glare with matching force.

'Where are you going?' He snarled.

'If you won't help me, Erik, I will go alone.' She stated simply and he couldn't help but release a bemused laugh.

'Madame, how will you find him and if you do, how will you rescue him?' He asked.

She looked up at him, tears welling in her beautiful eyes making them seem larger and more forlorn.

'I must.' She said and wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. Erik quickly looked her up and down then grabbed her wrists pushing her back into the chair. He wandered over to the wardrobe and reached in for his jacket before turning to look at Christine, who was watching him carefully.

He walked back over to her and the air between them grew cold as the tension built in the atmosphere. He longed for a knife to cut it so that he could slip through the hole and away from the situation. She waited for him to say something and when he did not she sighed and told him that he could not keep her prisoner.

'Prisoner my lady?' He said, patronising her to her soul. 'No, you are not my prisoner, Christine. You never really were, you always chose to be with me and when you did not you were free to leave.' He looked at her and regretted her sorrow. 'But I won't let you go looking for him'

'Then I AM your prisoner, Erik.' She said and he scowled at her before reaching into the brown bag and pulling out a dress and shoes and handing them to her. His eyes drifted back over her sitting in front of him, helpless in a way he found strangely endearing.

'You are not my prisoner.' He said, plainly.

'I need to find him.' She said, pleading and he nodded towards the dress in her hands.

'Yes, but we can't have you catching a cold running around in the dead of winter to God knows where in your night wear can we? You'll slow us down.'


	17. Accusations

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, they are always very much appreciated. No Erik or Christine in this character but I feel it's a pretty good chapter for plot development. I liked writing this chapter... Thank you again for the reviews.**

**Chapter 17- Accusations. **

It seemed to take Robert hours to get to Scotland Yard, the journey had not been helped by the vicious wind and he was tired. He stood at the bottom of the steps looking up at the grey building, the sign was obvious and he watched officers of the law wander in and out with no concern for him. He debated whether or not this was a good idea, after all the man had actually done nothing to him but he decided that having a fugitive living under his roof was not something that attracted guests and began to climb the steps. Several men walked past him, one had nearly knocked him off his feet but hadn't noticed and Robert pushed open the door and stepped into the entrance hall.

The room was smaller than he had expected it to be and there were only a few doors from the room. Ahead of him was a large desk and an even larger man in uniform standing behind it, looking at him as if he had crawled from the marshes. Robert stood up straight and coughed deeply, preparing himself to speak to the officer. He strode forward and forced a smile but the officer simply stared, his eyes were cold as if he had been in the business long enough to judge someone by the way they looked.

'Can I help you, sir?' He asked with no real interest and Robert nodded informing the officer that he needed to report a crime of sorts and would like to speak to someone senior. This, however, didn't seem to go down too well with the man behind the desk and he responded with a scowl before whispering to a younger man. The younger man wandered off and returned some moments later with a man in a sharp suit who smiled at Robert and motioned for him to follow.

They walked down many corridors and up one stair case to a small room at the end of a hallway. He watched the man in the suit walk in and sit down behind an old looking desk, Robert followed him in and stood just inside the door, his nervousness growing considerably.

'Close the door behind you Mr...?' The man said.

'Robert Baker,' He said and turned to ease the door shut.

'Okay, Mr Baker,' said the man gesturing for Robert to take a seat. 'I am detective Sanders. How can I help you, sir?'

Robert sat in the opposite seat which was hard and uncomfortable and he shifted several times to find a position he was even remotely satisfied with.

'I own a house… I let people rent rooms…' He began and the detective cut him off with a wave of his hand.

'Have you been burgled?' He asked and stared at Robert, who swallowed hard.

'No sir.' Robert replied. 'I have a man staying with me. He bought a dead body back last night. A woman, I think.'

Suddenly the detectives eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright, intrigued and finally interested in what he had to say. Robert looked at him and leant forward slightly, almost feeling the need to be secretive about the information.

'Indeed...,' Detective Sanders said, eyebrows arched in surprise. 'Did you see the body?'

'Well, I saw him carry a woman into the house… early hours this morning… she wasn't moving…'

'She wasn't moving?' said the police man exasperated. 'You didn't get close?'

'No sir, I was afraid.' Robert replied.

'So how do you know she was dead and he was simply not bringing back a guest of his own? Perhaps she was ill?'

'I think she was dead.'

'You _think_?' said the detective. 'You came here to tell me that you think you saw a man carrying what you think was a woman that you think was possibly, maybe, dead?' The detective rolled his eyes and called in a colleague to listen to Robert's tale. 'Tell me Mr. Baker, if he had killed someone why would he not simply leave the body where it was? Why would he take it back with him? When he could have been caught with it?'

'He's a murderer;' cried Robert. And the two detectives sat staring at him.

'How do you know?' said Detective Sanders.

'Because he had killed people before!' Replied Robert, now adamant and deeply offended that these men were obviously not taking him at all seriously. The second detective nodded patronisingly.

'He did, huh?' He said.

'Yes, in Paris.' Robert said and as the anger grew inside him he struggled to maintain his composure. 'He is a wanted man. He wore a mask.'

The two detectives looked at each other and Sanders blinked in disbelief before returning his glare back to Robert, who refused to look sheepish.

'Wore a mask indeed!' said the second detective.

'Tell me sir, is that whiskey I smell on your breath?' asked Sanders attempting to keep his voice civil.

'It is.' Said Robert, 'But I am perfectly sober and I met him whilst I was sober. He wore a mask. He is the Phantom of the Opera. Ask the French police! They have been after him for years!'

'Good Lord man!' Yelled detective Sanders standing up in such a way it may Robert jump to his feet as well. He noticed that the detectives face had turned a very peculiar shade of red and realised that perhaps he should have heeded his instinct to let things lie as they were. 'Get out of my office and stop wasting my time! A ghost, I ask you. Are you sure he wasn't with Long John Silver? Perhaps King Henry the first was there also?' The detective rolled his eyes. 'Go on, before I have you sectioned!'

'Sleep it off,' Shrugged the other detective nonchalantly as he held the door open for Robert to leave. 'I trust you remember the way out?'

Robert simply nodded embarrassed and with his eyes firmly focused on the floor made his way out of the building. When he stepped outside he had the thought that maybe things hadn't gone so badly after all. The masked man was supposed to be leaving soon enough and had the detectives taken him seriously maybe that would have put him in _more _danger. Perhaps he was drunk he thought as he trudged down the street, kicking up bricks as he walked. He would just avoid the man and hope that he didn't leave the dead body in his room.


	18. Delay, Destruction and Devestation

**Chapter 18- Delay, destruction and devestation.**

Erik sat on the edge of the bed, listening to Christine fumbling around in the adjoining room. He had offered to use that room so that she could change in the main room, which had far more space. She had declined his offer politely and formally and carried herself off to put the dress he had collected for her on.

Thud.

He winced and glanced at the door which was firmly shut and he didn't doubt that she had used the lock on the inside. Christine hadn't reacted quite the way he had expected to his presence and eventually, with much thought, he had put it down to the fact that she was worried for her husband. And who wouldn't be? She had grumbled part of the story to him, through tears, after he had handed her the dress. Apparently the men she had seen had tied Raoul's hands behind his back and the last thing she saw of him was with a knife to his throat, coated in blood.

Bang.

'Christine, are you alright?' He called and waited. Less than a minute later she came walking out, dressed and slightly red from the experience.

'I'm fine.' She replied and brushed her dress down at the front, she had pinned her hair up away from her face and her features shone at him. She was still so beautiful. 'When are we leaving?'

'Not until later.' He said and watched her face crease into a frown.

'Erik, we can't waste time!' She cried and he shook his head slowly as if begging her to use her brain and see that there was method in his madness, as there had always been.

'We need the cover of night, it's no use us going yet. We'll be killed.' He stated simply.

'No.' She said. 'You just don't want anyone to see you. You haven't changed at all Erik. Your face, your ego is stopping you from helping me.' Her eyes glowed in his direction. 'Or is it that you know the longer we leave him the more chance there is that he will be dead?'

Erik shot to his feet and grabbed Christine's arm, glaring at her face, his eyes locking onto hers. His temper growled to him as he moved her aside and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the dressing table. He looked at the bottle in his hand readying himself to feel its painful pleasure burn his throat but the sight of Christine in the background stopped him. He raised his face from the bottle to look at her properly, she was staring at him and he allowed a wry smile to form on his lips.

'I would happily kill him, Christine.' He said, still holding the bottle in his right hand, his grip intensified. She looked back at him and fear spread across her features.

'Would you though?' She asked and his smile faded as the anger re-established itself in his pulse. He strangled the bottle with his fingers and with a burst of fury threw it past Christine. It hit the opposite wall with such force that a shard of glass hit hand which was now at his side.

'Would I?' He said, stepping closer to Christine. 'Would I kill your precious husband?' His face was hot with rage. 'Would I see him and slit his throat?'

He was standing in front of her, his blue eyes burning gold and his hand balling to a fist. She mustered a timid nod and he shook his head.

'Would I, Christine?' He growled at her. 'The question is, Christine, why wouldn't I?'

* * *

Detective Sanders stood at the entrance of the tall building, in front of him were beautifully sculpted stone steps leading up to a double door, engraved with the letters RDC. His partner, Detective Fellows, stood at the top of the steps shaking his head as the uniformed officer in front of him relayed some details. A minute later and Paul Sanders was jogging up the steps to meet his friend, who obviously had the facts by now.

'So Thomas, what have we got?' He asked his partner who shot a glance as if to say _you don't want to know_.

'It's bad.' Said Thomas Fellows, 'It's… it's bad.'

The two detectives walked into the entrance way which opened out into a magnificent lobby covered in marble and decorated with expensive paintings. The whole house gave off the stench of wealth and Sanders soon felt suffocated by it's falseness. It was obvious that somebody had tried to make the house a home but somehow had failed, he was rarely wrong about this. He was rarely wrong about anything.

'There's blood in that room over there,' Fellows said, pointing at the room to their left and then aiming his finger at the door ahead. 'And in there, there's a body.'

Sanders poked his head around the first door to see a uniformed officer trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The uninformed officer look at the detective and shrugged his shoulders with sadness. He'd obviously seen the body already. Fellows had made it to the other door and Sanders caught him up so that they walked through together. By the far winder was a knife and lying next to it the body of a young woman, pale and cold.

They walked over and Sanders knelt by her side, looking at her and judging her age. He estimated that she was around thirty years old and he noted that she was in her night wear and that she had one wound in the chest. The blood was pooled around her body and it was obvious that this was where she had been stabbed and left to die. He glanced up at Fellows who was no doubt making the same mental notes as he.

'Done?' asked his partner and Sanders stood and nodded. He got the attention of a young officer and told him to take the knife as evidence and to help with the body. He then stepped out of the room to catch up with his partner who was on his way up the staircase.

'Where are you going?' He asked Fellows.

'There's more upstairs.' He said and closed his eyes. 'I told you it was bad.'

* * *

Four hours later and the sun was beginning to set on London, Paul Sanders was sitting on the bottom step at the front of the house they had spent the best part of the day in. He was still amazed and disgusted. He ran his hand over his bald head and rested his elbows on his knees. His tie was hanging from his neck loosely now and fatigue was beginning to wash over his bones.

His partners words were still ringing in his mind and he stared up at the sky, thanking God that at least the weather had improved.

It's bad.

And it was bad. Very bad. There had been one body downstairs and three bodies upstairs. A neighbour had bravely confirmed that all of the deceased were servants in the house and that the master of the house wasn't among the dead. Neither was his wife.

When Thomas Fellows had heard the names he had let out an uncharacteristic gasp and shot his eyes in Paul's direction. Paul had simply stared at the neighbour with disbelief and asked him to repeat it several times before it actually sank in.

The names were not important on their own not even with the murders which hid behind the walls of the house. The names were not important out of context. The names were Raoul and Christine De Chagney of France.

It wasn't even that they were important people in France, practically royalty, no.

But the importance of these names meant that Paul knew that this case had just gotten a whole lot bigger.


	19. Appearances

**A/N: The description of Erik from Christine's perspective is something Amber will recognise. It was something she said to me about the contrasts making the character…thanks Amber.**

'_Pride can stand a thousand trials,  
the strong will never fall  
But watching stars without you,  
my soul cried.'_

**Chapter 19- Appearances**

Christine slept.

Christine slept in bed.

Christine slept in _his_ bed.

The rise and fall of her chest under the covers had mesmerised him for hours and only her turning to her side had made him flinch away and glance out of the window. Darkness had fallen and he had not even noticed.

The day had been terrible for Erik, it had been terrible for both of them. Erik's temper had been under control until he had seen Christine, until he had spent today with her. She had always made his emotions bubble to the surface and on more than one occasion boil over. He had frightened her earlier and his only explanation was that he wasn't sure how to react to her being there and with the news about Madame Giry his patience had been small. With an apology she had accepted she had crept into bed fully clothed and slept for the rest of the day.

He couldn't tell her that if to kill Raoul meant to kill Christine then it was a task he would never be quite up to.

Poor Christine had been shattered and after she had fallen to sleep he had left to gather information. He knew enough now to find Raoul but he also knew that they were on the move, heading further north to pastures new. He did not, however, know if Raoul was alive.

Whilst he was out he had attempted to collect more clothes for Christine but the place was covered in police and he had had to steal some from Meg Giry's wardrobe so that Christine would have clean clothing for her journey.

When he had returned to the room to find Christine still soundly sleeping he had sat down by the bed and watched her sleep. Occasionally she murmured in her sleep and he watched the way her lips moved when she whispered. He couldn't hear what she was saying and he didn't care to, seeing her there so peaceful was enough to satisfy his mind.

As her eyes opened she stretched her arms out to her sides and her shoulder clicked roughly back into place. She reached over and rubbed it gently, noticing that the room was dark and that the cover of night was now theirs. She wondered briefly why Erik hadn't woken her but she soon realised that he too was sleeping and as she sat her she allowed her eyes to take in his full figure for the first time since they had met again.

He had changed on the outside although he still wore the mask. His face was much darker than it had been, he had always been so pale but now his face was showing signs that he had approved it some moments of sunlight. His arms were still strong but somehow seemed stronger, when he had grabbed her his hands were warmer and when he had tended her wound they were softer.

She wondered how he had kept his time, what he had done for the last seven years. It had been the first time she had let herself think about his life since she had left him years ago. Had she thought about it over the years she was sure that slowly she would have lost her sanity. Her eyes drifted back over his chest and up to his face and she stood up keeping her eyes on him.

God had been so cruel to the man in front of her.

One side of his face was almost perfection although he didn't realise it. His jaw was strong, smooth, his cheek masculine and powerful. His eyes held a beauty that no man she had met in her life could rival. Yet the other side was sinister and dark. It was as ugly as anything she had ever seen, puckered and scarred, it was a mess of pure evil. The contrast between the two sides were harsh and the splendour of his left side was as magnificent as the horror of his right was repulsive.

With a soft hand she touched his mask and her mind flew back in time as she remembered the first time she had removed it. His anger had been vicious and pure.

She stroked the mask with her fingertip, over the lines and around the edge. She slid her finger along his jaw under the mask and then around to his ear, for a moment she stood there with the same temptation as many years ago. To remove it. But she resisted and dropped her hand to his shoulder squeezing it hard enough to wake him gently.

'Erik…' She whispered and the sound danced on his senses. He refused to open his eyes in case he was dreaming. She stroked his neck. 'Erik… wake up? Is it time?'

She looked at him and moved her hand slowly around from his skin. He opened his eyes and glanced up at her with a nod. He cleared his throat and began to sit up.

'Yes.' He said, his voice rough and dry. 'It's time.'


	20. Sleepless in London

**A/N: 28 Feb 2005- Edited some spelling etc from the rush yesterday. No real changes though.**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews… appreciated as always.**

**Excuse any typos or SP's I will go back and correct if there are any later, I just wanted to get this chapter up before I head out to work!**

**R&R**

**_New disclaimer:_ I do not own the Phantom or any of the original character's from the book (s) movie or play. **

**I do own Detectives Paul Sanders and Thomas Fellows, Rebecca, Jennifer Sanders and Robert. On the off chance that you would like to use any of these characters please let me know and credit me. Thanks. **

**Chapter 20 – Sleepless in London.**

The night was cold but clear and the stars shone as diamond buttons on its coat. Paul Sanders sat in the carriage and shook his head slowly from side to side. He could barely believe the day he had had and he couldn't wait to get home and see his beautiful wife and children. Whenever work was hard on him he simply sat and thought about them at home waiting for his return, and how, although he didn't deserve them sometimes, they were always there. And he loved them.

It was true, his wife Jennifer was beautiful and not only this but she had the most exquisite accent. She had been born in France many years ago now and was almost ten years Paul's junior, not that it mattered. All it did was reaffirm the fact that he was lucky. It was equally true that Paul had no idea what his young wife saw in him. He was a middle aged, balding, not particularly attractive bloody detective and yet she had loved him. For years she had loved him despite his long hours and often atrocious mood swings.

As the carriage pulled up to his house he knew that today was something he needed to tell her about, it was important that she heard this. It was from Jennifer and her friend Meg that he had heard about The Phantom of the Opera, it was from Meg that he had learned about Christine De Chagny. He hopped out of the carriage and handed the driver some money before trudging slowly up the path to his house and as he opened the door the sight of the fire blazing and his wife sleeping on the chair filled his heart with warmth and pride.

Jennifer's eyes opened as the click of the door echoed in the silence and she smiled groggily at her husband. He walked in and slumped next to her, leaning over to kiss her soft cheek and pull her into a hug, which he had been waiting for the entire day. After he had eaten the dinner that she had prepared for him they lay on the floor in front of the fire together. He asked about the children, how they had behaved and how their schooling had been and he asked her how she was but the concern soon showed on her face.

'You were late home tonight, Sweetheart,' she said softly. It wasn't a criticism, it was an observation.

'It's been a long one…' he replied and kissed her forehead with as much tenderness as his hard lips could muster. She seemed to appreciate it.

'Is something bothering you?' She asked, perceptive has always. He had never been able to keep anything from her and this time would be no different.

'I need to tell you something,' He said gently. 'But I have to ask you not to tell anyone for now.'

She nodded and he was reassured, he had her promise and that was enough for him. He pushed himself to a seated position and rested his elbows on his knees, glancing over at her looking up at him. As he explained her eyes widened with surprise and for a moment fear, she knew what it meant as well as he did.

For this time you really didn't have to be a detective to understand the connotations of what had happened at the De Chagny home.

'The gentleman that came this morning,' He said, preparing to finish his story. 'We laughed him out of the building. But it looks like he was correct.'

She simply nodded a yes and her mind drifted to Meg.

'He is alive and well and has come for Christine,' he said with a long sigh added as if it was good to finally get it off his chest. He and Fellows had agreed not to discuss it until morning but it had played on his mind the entire journey home. He knew that Jennifer would understand.

'Do you think he _had_ killed her, Paul?' she asked, eyes brimming with tears. He shook his head quickly and reached his arms out to her, pulling her into the safety of his chest.

'He wouldn't,' was all he said and she understood.

She understood.

* * *

Rebecca had heard the smash earlier in the night and then the voices decending from shouts to mere whispers, she had tried to keep up with the conversation but had been lost many times. During the shouting she had recognised both voices in the room one of the man in the mask, full of rage as he had been when he had grabbed her and the other of Christine de Chagny. As she had listened her mind began to take it in and she wondered why she had not thought of it sooner. 

The masked man was in love with her former mistress.

He didn't say it, or even allude to it really but it was the way his anger had fired again so readily. Rebecca realised that only love could have possibly made this man so mad with rage. First, when he heard of Madame de Chagny's plight and now listening to the pleas for her husband and Rebecca's past master, Le Vitcome de Chagny.

After the shouting there was an almighty bang and the sound of smashing glass, then for a long while there had been silence. The silence had deafened her more than the yelling because her ears had become used to their sounds and to not hear them frightened her. She had seen how fast the man's rage was and she dreaded to think what he could do to the tiny vitcomess if he lost his temper.

Then came whispering, fast and long whispering, apologies from the man and sobs from the woman. Finally, she had accepted his words and all had grown silent. Rebecca had listened until she fell asleep and it was the sound of movement in the next room which woke her again. She had no idea how long she had been asleep but she heard them speak again and listened intently. Her mother had always told her what curiosity did to a cat but she always chose to ignore it, it hadn't caused her any great harm before now.

* * *

Thomas Fellows couldn't sleep. He had spent the last three hours trying, curled up in his bed, shivering and trying to get some warmth into his blood. It had been no use of course. He lay alone and there was no woman to warm him and no good memories to sooth him either. All he saw when he closed his eyes was blood and hatred and so his eyes did not stay closed for very long. 

He flung his legs out of the side of the bed and reached across to his robe, slipping it over his shoulders he looked around his poor excuse for a home. It consisted of four rooms on the first floor of a two floor house. The floor above him was occupied by a widow and her small child who had moved there when they had run into trouble in the north of the country. The child cried all night much to Thomas' dismay and when he did manage to sleep it was often broken by the boys whimpers.

The room he was in now was his bedroom and once you stepped into it there really wasn't far to move, two steps to the bed, two the wardrobe and one to the dresser. Barely enough space to breath, he thought, as he stood up. The room outside of his bedroom was a living room he rarely used as it was not much bigger than his poor excuse for a bedroom and to top it all off, it was drafty. There was over the other side what the landlord liked to call a kitchen, which Thomas often scoffed at and next to his bedroom was a sort of bathroom, the less he thought about that the better he felt. He often chose to use the communal bathroom as, for some reason, it was a whole lot cleaner than his room.

Blood and hatred and knives.

Bile bubbled in his body.

Four dead bodies.

Vomit rose in his throat.

Two missing people.

What a day, he thought and began to get dressed. There was no point him lying there and mulling it over and although Paul wouldn't appreciate it he was going to get up and come with him to continue the investigation. Two missing people was not a good thing and the longer they left if the less chance they had of finding them alive.

One Phantom.


	21. Tortures many forms

**A/N: Short chapter... sorry. :D Appreciate the reviews as always. I'm thoroughly stressed out and busy right now but will try to write more.**

**Chapter 21- Tortures many forms.**

'This isn't going to be easy,' He said as he pulled his jacket over his shoulders. 'We need to travel.'

Christine eyed his suspiciously and he looked at her with a shrug. She had pinned her hair back up after her sleep and a stray curl was kissing the side of her cheek softly, he stared at it. How he envied it. Her eyes had softened from the crying but were brighter in anticipation of finding her husband and Erik conceded that to make her happy would give him worth… at least for the day.

'How do you know we're travelling?' she asked. 'Do you know where he is already?'

Erik shook his head.

'I know what he is travelling in and what route he is taking.' He said and she smiled briefly.

'He's alive?' she asked and he held back a grunt.

'For now,' was his only reply before he tugged one of his shoes on and began to explain to her that it was going to be difficult to get to him but probably more difficult to rescue him.

* * *

Paul groaned as he rolled over, away from the comfort of his wife, to look at the mantel clock. It wasn't quite morning yet someone was knocking at his door, waking him and probably half the neighbourhood up in the process. There was another knock, despite Paul's wishes for the visitor to jump from the nearest bridge, and he was forced to climb out of bed.

Jennifer stirred and blinked her eyes open, focusing on Paul's figure standing by the door. She pushed her blonde hair away from her face and started to push herself into a seated position but he walked over to her and held her arms in his hands, kissing her forehead he told her to go back to sleep. She smiled sweetly and closed her eyes and as he walked out of the room he could hear her breathing.

He ran down the stairs to prevent another knock as his door and grabbed his pistol as he moved, he had no idea who this was but was not going to be caught out by a polite villain. He opened the door and to his total dismay there stood Thomas Fellows with a sheepish yet shockingly awake look on his face.

'What on earth are you doing here!' Paul growled and Thomas grinned as he edged past him. Thomas, so young and sure of himself, so arrogant and full of life. Paul wanted to hate him and his good looks, his strong build and blue eyes but he couldn't. He couldn't hate Thomas Fellows because Thomas was bright and made work more bearable for him.

'We need to work on the kidnapping.' He stated simply and made himself comfortable on the chair by the fire. 'I'll wait here while you dress'

Paul stared in disbelief at his partner and turned to head up the stairs.

To dress.

'Nice gown,' said Thomas, calling after Paul who suddenly realised that he had put on Jennifer's robe and not his own.

* * *

The punches hammered down like rain on his torso, he no longer possessed the energy to defend himself, he simply lay there and took it, making attempts to tense his body against the storm. It was no use though, the pain was tearing his soul, kick after punch after kick.

They lifted him and held his face still and the next pain he felt was sharp to his jaw and he collapsed against the wall.

The last pain he felt was dull. No more, he thought.

No more.


	22. Investigation

**A/N: This chapter was hard work! It's taken me two days to get right and I still think it's lacking, oh well, it will do until my mind block vanishes.**

**Thank you for the reviews, appreciated as always!**

**Chapter 22- Investigation**

In the coolness of the morning someone had obviously forgotten their manners, thought Antoinette Giry as she lifted herself carefully to her feet and struggled towards the front door. As she reached it Meg ran down the stairs and chastised her for having even considered answering it. Antoinette merely smiled and lifted the catch to open it, as Meg poked her head around to see who was there.

As it opened Meg was more than a little surprised to find a uniformed police officer removing his hat.

'Can I help you?' Meg asked as Antoinette headed back into the living room where she settled herself in to her seat by the fire and listened to the conversation at the door.

'Yes, ma'am. Are you Miss Giry?' he asked and she nodded slowly in response. 'I'm sorry to bother you at such an early hour. It's about your friend, Christine De Chagny.' His voice was low and sounded like feet on gravel, not at all pleasant to listen to, she noted as she gestured him inside and gently clicked the door shut behind him.

'What's wrong?' Meg asked as she offered him the seat opposite her mother, choosing to stay standing herself. He looked grave and retold the story to her as she listened intently. Tears stung her and her heart shuddered in her chest as she finally collapsed into the spare seat.

'Do you have any idea if she is alive?' she asked and was shocked by another banging at the door. The uniformed officer stood, suggesting that Meg stay seated while he answered the door. Meg had lost the will to argue and fear for her friend made her stomach heavy enough to pin her to her seat.

When he returned he was accompanied by two faces she knew well and she leapt up, throwing herself at Paul Sanders so hard she nearly knocked him from his feet. He held her tiny body close to his and stroked her hair softly, unprofessional he realised but what else could he do? When she finally let go of his body tears were streaked along her cheek and she fell back into the chair, glancing once at Thomas Fellows and then returning her gaze to the uniformed officer.

'If I could pick up where I left off?' he said and Paul nodded at him slowly. Meg watched him as he played with the seam of his hat, it was obvious he was easily made nervous and it was trait she despised in men. 'I think it is a question we must ask you, Miss, whether she is alive or not.'

Meg's brow crinkled into a frown and her face was covered with confusion, noticing this, the officer continued to speak, trying to explain why she might be able to help them.

'We have reason to believe that she and the Count,' he paused and Meg grimaced at the English phrase. 'Have been abducted by the man known as Phantom of the Opera. We were wondering if you could lend us any insight. Do you think he has killed Mrs de Chagny?'

Meg's face turned from confusion to shock at the bluntness of his question and the revelation of the suspicion falling on the man she once knew as the Opera Ghost.

She somehow mustered the composure to shake her head slowly from side to side.

'N-no,' She stuttered out.

'And do you think he has killed Mr de Changy?' the officer asked and Meg's eyes flashed to her mother who had been silent throughout the whole experience.

'You haven't said that it was even the ghost!' Meg said, her disbelief finally forming itself into a rage she rarely used. 'I don't think it's him!' She insisted her voice fierce with emotion 'He won't kill Raoul if it is! He could have done that so long ago!'

Meg Giry's face was red with a concoction of emotions, she was furious at the insensitivity of the young officer and she was worried to her soul for her friend. Her blue eyes were stinging from the crying she had not realised she was doing and her mind could not control her anger as she stared at the officer.

'He let them go!' she insisted, starting to calm herself and settled into her seat, brushing the front of her dress down gently. 'Why officer, would he let them go if he wanted them dead?'

Antoinette Giry finally stirred in her seat and glanced at her daughter, who had done her proud with her assertiveness. She smiled inside at the thought of her daughter's strength as she had grown.

'I think we are done here gentlemen.' She said and turned her stare to Paul who was standing in the corner, face showing dismay at the actions of the younger officer. She shifted from him to Thomas who was trying not to look at Meg and she smiled at him. He returned her smile and stepped into the centre of the room.

'Mrs Giry,' he said as gently as his hard voice could muster. 'We know that you were friends with this man. I hate to ask you this, but you know how it is.'

She smiled wryly and nodded her head, she knew how it was.

'Have you seen him since he's been here?' he continued.

'We don't know he is here.' She replied with a nonchalant shrug of her frail shoulders.

'Would you tell me if he was Ma'am?'

'No.' she said simply and looked over at Paul who was rubbing his forehead firmly.

'Have you helped him escape?' asked Thomas, undeterred.

'_If_ he were here and _if_ he was a fugitive from you and _if_ I had aided him.' She said, 'I would not tell you that either.'

Thomas turned to look at Paul who had walked to stand by his side and Paul shrugged at him.

'Do you think he has kidnapped Christine de Chagny?' asked Paul as he gestured for the officer and Thomas to make their way out. It was obvious that they were no longer welcome and something about Antoinette Giry's face told him that she had said all she was willing to say on the subject.

'If she is with him monsieur,' she said softly. 'Then she is the safest she has been in years.'


	23. Fugitive

**Chapter 23- Fugitive. **

Despite Paul's protests Meg Giry had followed them out and insisted on accompanying them to their next stop. Eventually he had relented with the thought that she could offer possible insight into whether or not Christine had been at Robert Baker's home. All of the way to the 'apartments' Thomas and Meg had barely looked at each other, or rather, they had not _obviously_ looked at each other.

Paul was well aware that both he and the young Giry were without partners and chuckled to himself at their coyness. They had met a few times previously and each time had been the same, with Meg stealing glances at Thomas when he was not looking and Thomas doing the same. It had amused Paul and his wife for a whole evening at one event.

It was unlike his partner to be so shy around a woman. If he had looks like Thomas Fellows, he would never have been shy around women either, he thought, and looked over at Thomas, who was staring up at the building. Thomas was taller than Paul, who wasn't short himself, and broader, he had no fat to him and was built like a house. He was truly a specimen among men and it made Paul smile to watch him so uncomfortable around someone.

Meg Giry was in a league of her own though. Paul didn't usually notice anyone's attractiveness, as in comparison to Jennifer, they were poor competition. He was not attracted to Meg in the respect that he would have liked to have married or that his wife had anything to worry about. Meg was still young in so many respects but what she lacked in general maturity she gained in beauty. She had a face which begged people to look at it, her blue eyes were cool and sparkled on the darkest of days and she was certainly a match for Thomas.

What he knew of Meg's character had been almost blown away in the Giry house, as he had always seen her as a bit soft. He had certainly been proven wrong with her stance against them. In particular her anger at young Bentley, who Paul had had to send back to the station due to Meg's insistence that he did not accompany them. Paul had found himself agreeing with her because he honestly believed that the young man would be far better served spending some more time around some less heinous offences.

Robert's face was a picture when he saw them standing in his hallway explaining to him that they had asked around and come to the conclusion that he was telling them the truth. Robert showed them up to the room he had been renting to the 'phantom' and handed Paul the key and insisting that he had work to do he had run away. Paul couldn't blame the man for not wanting to involve himself any further and as the thought crossed his mind he pushed the key into the door and turned it slowly.

The room was empty aside from furniture a night dress draped across the chair in front of them. Thomas lifted it and examined it carefully, there was blood on the cuff and around the neck although it wasn't a great deal. He handed it to Meg who nodded affirmative that the night gown belonged to Christine.

'I can smell her,' said Meg softly and sniffed back a tear to compose herself. Paul silently applauded her bravery and walked around the room to the wardrobe in the corner, as he opened the door his heart flipped a somersault and he coughed back his shock.

There in the wardrobe was a white mask staring out at him and a note next to it which he opened up and with a smile of disbelief handed to his partner. Who read aloud:

'Detective,

Catch me if you can.

O.G'


	24. Sunshine

**A/N: Appreciate the reviews as always. I debated on the note… I wasn't sure if I was going to put it in but I decided I should. My reasoning for this is that I wanted to portray Erik's sense of humour… he has always had one. A little twisted, but there. **

**Modesty: Thanks for reviewing. You're always polite! **

**As for the comment on my grammar, I do apologise, I often write late and things get a little blurred on my screen. **

**As for the 'Miss' rather than 'mademoiselle' it was deliberate. As they are in London and not Paris a British police officer would refer to her as 'Miss' and not her French title… which is also commented on later in the chapter about 'Count' (or viscount) de Chagny rather than Vitcome. **

**Oh and you haven't updated your fic yet!**

**Thank you :D**

**Amber: Your reviews always make me smile. Lately University has been tough and this story has given me an outlet. The reviews are a lift in my spirits.**

**Onward. **

**Chapter 24- Sunshine.**

The clicking of the horses shoes on the cobblestones combined with the rocking of the carriage had not taken long to lull Christine in to a deep and soft sleep. It had been early when they had set out, still dark outside, and she needed her rest. Her breathing was low and a couple of times Erik had moved over her to check that she was still breathing. Relieved that she was he settled himself back into his corner and continued to watch the rise and fall of her chest, so contented with the sleep she was allowed.

Her hair had started to fall loose through the carriage ride the fact that it looked ruffled had brought an uncharacteristic smile to his face. He couldn't peel his eyes away from her, he couldn't stop looking at her. She was beautiful, he thought and shuffled in his seat. Things had not been the same for him since he had left the opera house back in Paris. It had been years ago and he missed his home, albeit cold and damp. He could still see the layout of the corridors and the way his mirrors twisted the view of them. Only he could safely wander in and out without becoming lost and that was how he had liked it.

He had spent the last few years under another theatre but had stayed mostly quiet, contenting himself with the odd scare every now and then just to keep people on their toes. It only satisfied him for mere seconds though, things were simply not the same there. There was no labyrinth and had he not been careful he would have been easily caught. Which is why he remained silent and let them go about their business in peace meaning that he could lead his own quiet life.

He had spent more time outdoors as he had found a lovely little area just north of the theatre where few people went or even knew about. It meant he could at least allow his body some sunlight which his body had seemed to enjoy greatly. Erik himself had not really enjoyed the daylight, it always had him on edge, he felt that he must constantly monitor his surroundings. He was only ever really relaxed at night.

And right now.

Despite the thoughts of the difficulties they may incur or thoughts of his being pursued or even the notion that he would be rescuing his enemy, he was, for that moment, content. His body was snug in the seat of the carriage and in front of him was the most beautiful sight God had created. She sighed in her sleep and as he watched, her lips parted and he found himself waiting for her to say something.

He managed to tear his eyes away from her for long enough to peer out of the window and realise it was time, for now, to walk. He stopped the driver who he paid and tipped well enough for his mask never to be mentioned to anyone again. When he stepped back inside the carriage he took one last glimpse of Christine's peaceful slumber before he called her name softly.

Her eyes opened as he reached out to help her up, she refused his hand politely and pushed herself to her feet, ducking out of the carriage and hopping onto the earth. He stole a glance at her as she brushed her dress down at the front and stroked her hair back into place.

'Where are we?' She asked looking around her at the hills and stream running along side the road. She didn't recognise anything about the place, the road was dust and stones and they were surrounded by emerald grass and fresh air.

'We're on the right track,' Erik said with a slight smile. 'We need to go that way, just keep following this road' he pointed ahead of them and Christine began to walk.

'How long will we walk for?' she asked as he caught up with her and settled himself into the same pace as her.

'A while,' he replied. 'Then we will rest.'

'When?'

'It depends how quickly we walk.' He said. 'We will rest for a short time and then carry on along the path to the next town.' She glanced at him as she walked. 'We should be in the next town shortly after night fall.'

'Well, you certainly have this mapped out.'

'We can go back.' He said, coldly.

'No, Erik…' She paused and stood still, stopping him. She looked up at him and watched his eyes for emotion half afraid that she would see too much. 'I wasn't being… like _that…_I appreciate this… your… you know… your help'

Erik simply nodded and turned to walk but as he did he felt her hand reach up and grip his shoulder. He glanced back at her.

'I'm sorry.' She said. 'Thank you'

His ears tingled but he shook the sensation and continued to walk forward with her just a step behind him. He was thankful of the sun in the sky beating away any rain for their long walk but mostly he was thankful for the light that she bought to his dark.


	25. Destination Unknown

**A/N: Thanks again Amber!**

**This chapter is for plot, relationship and character development. I hope you like it!**

**Excuse any mistakes, I am at Uni and trying to get this up before I go to my lecture!**

**R&R :D**

**Chapter 25- Destination unknown **

As they walked the mild breeze touched their bodies and did well to cool their emotions, Christine was amazed at how the weather had changed over the last few days. Since she had been in England she had witnessed some interesting things, not least the way the weather could alter so quickly.

Erik was still one pace ahead of her and they had so far not attempted awkward conversation, choosing to wander along the path with the silence building a wall between them. He had taken his cloak off and draped it across his arm, she was surprised at this act of security and when he had removed his hat but the mask still remained.

She had no idea how long they had been walking but she knew that it had been hours. He had only turned to face her twice, both times simply to make sure that she was keeping up with him. She was of course, they were on their way to find Raoul and Erik already knew more than he was letting on.

'You realise, Erik...' she said, finally shattering the glass silence. 'That you are out, in broad daylight where people can see you.'

Erik continued to walk but analysing the statement he realised that her curiosity was finally getting the better of her. So some things don't change, he thought with the hint of a smile forming on his lips.

'Have we past anyone so far?' he asked, without turning around. She looked at his back and nodded, although she knew that not even he could see what was behind him.

'No one.' She conceded. 'What if we _do_ see someone? What will we do?'

'We'll wander into the field and pretend we're enjoying each others company.'

She sighed.

'Erik…' she said, softly. 'Why are we walking to the next town?'

'Because towns are busy, Christine.' He kicked a stone into the field. 'We need the dark.'

With that they both fell silent again, Christine following and Erik leading they continued along the meandering pathway. Christine wondered what they would find when they reached their destination, she had no idea what to expect and Erik was giving nothing away.

Erik's mind flitted between what their next move would be and how he would cope with rescuing the Vitcome. He didn't know how he would react to seeing him again, to seeing his face so smug with the satisfaction that once again Erik would have to release them from his grasp.

The boy's eyes would shine onto him like he was dirt, like the monster that he was, like he never deserved to be in such beauty as was Christine. As if he didn't already know it. He would be forced to look at Raoul's handsome face and stare at the man he had longed to look like but knew he never would.

It was the realisation that Christine had dropped several paces behind him that brought him out of his own mind. He stopped and turned to look at her, she was tired.

'Are you okay?' He asked and as she nodded she stopped walking. Erik watched her and could see the pain flicker in her eyes. 'Christine...?'

'My feet are hurting,' she admitted quietly and Erik looked at her with sympathy. 'I'm sorry.' She said.

Erik shook his head and, as he stepped towards her, handed her his cloak and slid one hand under her, lifting her body into his arms. Her surprise was soon replaced by comfort, her feet weren't hurting anymore and as she relaxed into him she slipped an arm around his neck and allowed him to walk on for both of them.

* * *

The house was warm and light with the blaze of the fire glowing in the sitting room, reflecting an orange radiance around the home. Thomas Fellows stood at the door of his friend's house and waited patiently for him to say his goodbyes. Paul had charged him with the task of attempting to discourage Meg Giry from accompanying them on their journey but so far he hadn't found the courage to talk to her.

He glanced over at her and took in her beauty before stepping down from thedoorwaytowards her. She looked up at him with and smile and he gathered that she already knew what he was intending to do.

'You can't come Meg.' He said simply and her smile grew in return.

'I knew you were going to say that.' She said and his face remained expressionless. She stepped towards him and he debated turning and making a run for the front door. 'I won't come if you do two things for me.'

'What's that?' he asked with thick curiosity oozing from his lips.

'The first is, when you find Christine, tell her that I love her.' She said. Thomas watched her. 'The second is… whatever you're thinking… I'm thinking too. Just ponder that on your travels.'

His confusion was obvious but Meg knew he was an intelligent man and although his shyness around her was evident he didn't seem to notice her own shyness around him. It needed one of them to make a move and this was Meg's way of telling him that she was prepared for, and looking forward to, it.

'How do you know that we'll find her,' he asked as Meg turned to walk away.

'Because Monsieur Fellows,' she said with playfulness attacking her tone. 'If the Ghost didn't want you to follow him, he would leave no clues.'

* * *

Paul kissed Jennifer's face and lips softly, showering her with the caresses and love that he so missed when he was working. Her giggles under his touch hid her fear for him but she played along and forced herself to enjoy his company for the few minutes they had left. She was aware that Thomas was waiting for her husband and she knew that she would not see him for a while.

Paul's lips had always been hard but not often unpleasant and she loved his touch more than anything else on earth. His smile was always genuine and his love uncompromising and he warmed her when she was cold. His love was effortless. He was a wonderful father and a unique man with so much knowledge, so much intelligence and so much experience in life.

His hands slipped around her back and he pulled her close, hugging her body tightly to his. She knew that this was the last cuddle she would get before he left and she was thankful that he had had time to see her before he went.

'Tell the boys I will miss them!' he said with enthusiasm. 'Tell them I'll be home soon! I won't stay away long.' He kissed her again and she smiled against him.

'I will,' she said softly.

'I love you.' He shouted back as he walked out of the front door. She pulled the netting aside and watching Paul leave her smiled broadened. After all, she had already hatched a plan.


	26. Healing Voice

**A/N Forgive errors**. xxxx

_When your love is pouring like the rain,_

_I close my eyes and it's gone again_

_When will I get the chance to say I love you?_

_I pretend that you're already mine,_

_That my heart isn't breaking everytime,_

_I look into your eyes._

**Chapter 26- Healing Voice.**

The time seemed to pass so quickly once Erik was carrying her and it didn't seem long before he was telling her that it was time to rest. He led her across the field to a small wooded area where he laid his cloak on the floor and gestured for Christine to sit on it. She didn't take much convincing and leant her back against the tree, watching as Erik settled himself opposite her.

'You can sleep for a while,' he said to her gently and she looked at him watching his face for signs of tiredness. She found none.

'I think I'll stay up.' She said and he nodded.

They sat there for a long time, looking at each other, neither really knowing how to start the conversation that they had both been longing to have all day. Erik rested his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward, towards her and Christine remained rested against the tree, scared to break away from looking at him.

'How have you been Erik?' she finally asked, her heart jumping.

'I've been…' he said. 'I've been fine.'

'Really?' she said and leaned forward. 'What have you been doing?'

He looked at her, watching her eyes as she watched him. He knew that she was expecting something profound, she always had of him but the truth was not that interesting.

'I've been living in Paris mostly.' He said. 'Keeping myself to myself. And you Christine?'

She thought hard about her answer, so many responses bouncing around in her mind but none of them sounded right to her.

'I've moved around a lot.' She said.

'I see.' His eyes glinted in the fading light of the sun. His mind was bouncing ideas around and he was desperate to ask, he needed to know. 'Why don't you have children?'

She glanced over at him and let her head sink so that she was looking at the dirt by her feet. She choked back a sob and composed herself mentally before looking back into his eyes.

'I can't have children.' She said and then, as the words left her mouth the tears poured, like rain, along her cheeks. Her composure was a thing of the past as she sobbed and cried and longed to be safe again.

Erik looked on at her tiny figure contorting in the pain of her heart. Her sobs rang through his ears and although they were not loud they were deafening.

'It's caused so many problems Erik, so many. You don't know, I wish you knew, I wish I could tell you how…' she choked. 'How much it hurts! How I wanted to be normal, how I wanted everything to be well and good and right!'

He watched as she continued, he let her cry and bluster at him.

'Oh God, I can't take it anymore… he hurt me so much. He shunned me… wouldn't touch me. But said he loved me. How can you love someone and not touch them?' she asked, the tears dripping slowly from her cheeks. 'How? I wish you knew…'

It was too much and before she knew it Erik was at her side, arms around her body holding her to his chest, letting her cry into him. He held her tight, stroked her hair and gently shushed but it was no use. She was hysterical, and he wondering how Raoul could be so cruel.

'Shh' he cooed. 'Shh, Christine. I understand, I know.' He soothed her but she could not stop crying. And somewhere in his soul he mustered the energy to do the only thing that had ever soothed her, to do the only thing that could ever comfort her…

'Night time sharpens heightens each sensation…'


	27. Cat and Mouse

**A/N: Wow thanks for the reviews! I'm still not sure where this will go in regards to the relationship, I am toying with two endings and am debating posting them both (when it comes around) as alternatives, meaning the reader can choose the ending they prefer!**

**Hope this chapter is ok… I'll try to update again soon.**

**Xx**

_"Love is something eternal, The aspect may change, But not the essence." - Vincent Van Gogh_

**Chapter 27- Cat and Mouse.**

It had taken a while for her sobs to subside, he sang softly, almost whispering until her eyes closed and he heard her breathing even out in the stillness of the evening. Carefully he moved her off him and laid her gently onto his cloak before laying his jacket over her and sitting against the tree. He watched her in silence and noted then way the pink of the setting sun highlighted her features, making her look like a piece of art any painter would be proud of.

He rubbed his throat gently, it was sore from the singing, his body wasn't used to it anymore. He recalled… _paper faces on parade…_ he remembered, the last time he had sung… _hide your face_… it had been years ago… _so the world will never find you_. He had let her leave, let her go with him. He had watched her row away in his boat, out of his lair and slowly but surely, out of his life.

He remembered it so well, it was so vivid in his mind, everything about it. The candles lighting his home, the water so still and calm but so cold around him. Christine was young and beautiful with so much life ahead of her, all the potential in the world to be whatever she wanted to be. He hadn't thought at first that what she would want to be was Raoul's wife, it had taken him a while to realise it.

The night on the roof had almost killed him, almost shattered him as he watched them declaring their love for each other… he would protect her…

He would protect her, be her guide, from me, he thought.

It rang in his mind and his head screamed, his heart screamed. His body shuddered with his memories, as they flooded his thoughts and he remembered the sight of her lips resting on Raoul's. He had never felt pain like it. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest, his heart had literally stopped beating, what was left of it was crumbling in his body as he stood their in the cold.

Somehow Don Juan Triumphant had made him live, had kept him going through the next 6 months but it had been torture. He had piled his thoughts, feelings and memories into that piece. All of the emotion and the tension he had ever felt when he looked at her came in abundance as it poured onto the pages. He had stopped watching her, how could he bear it, knowing that she was in love with someone else and that she had barely given him a thought.

Fear was never what he had wanted from Christine, he had only ever wanted her love. Her understanding and the realisation that he longed for her every day. She feared him yet she had nothing to fear, not from him because he was the one person of the earth simply didn't have the ability to hurt her.

But Raoul.

He had left her to him, let her leave with him.

He had spared Raoul's life and allowed the boy to be free to marry the one woman that Erik truly loved. The only woman Erik had ever loved.

How could he not want to touch her, how could anyone not want to touch her?

He freed her because her mercy kiss had both liberated him and trapped him. He knew that he was capable of feeling love and that someone could possibly love him in return but he also knew that she was better off with Raoul.

In his heart he knew that Raoul would never love her with the passion or the awe that he did, but his head had told him that her life would never be fulfilled in the cellar of that opera house.

He realised, through his madness, that she could never be his wife, his true partner in everything. And so he told them to leave, to go and to forget him and never to return. Oh and how it had crushed him, it had devastated him, destroyed his soul and spirit.

He had cried, laid on the floor listening to the sounds of the mob growing louder and louder, descending to his lair and to his madness. When he finally came around the mob were close and he had been forced to leave his home with a little help from Antoinette Giry. The whole event had stayed with him for years and it took him so long to feel like he had gotten over it.

And as he sat there watching Christine sleep for the second time that day he realised that he would never truly be over it, he would never forget it.

* * *

Thomas stood by Paul at the side of the carriage, neither of them really recognising where they were but knowing they were on the right trail. Paul glanced at his friend and nodded towards the foot prints on the floor, one large set and one small. 

They hopped back into the carriage and were away again.

* * *

The men moved his body out of the cage and dumped it into the back of the truck. It had been lying there for over a day and they were concerned that it would begin to smell.

They needed to find a way of disposing of it, now.

* * *

Jennifer stood with Meg at the edge of a dusty and long road, up ahead was Paul's carriage and they were determined to stay with them but they knew they had to be careful. 

Jennifer sighed in the knowledge that Paul would be angry but they had wanted to help, they wanted to find Christine.

Meg was also very evasive about her reasons for coming. There was more to it than helping Christine, she saw it in her eyes when she spoke. What it was though, she didn't know and didn't care to ask.

Onward.


	28. Out of Towners

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, AS ALWAYS! **

**To my anonymous reviewer, I'm not sure what to make of your review but it sounded profound :D**

**Modesty: As always, thank you… great new chapter on your story too!**

**Amber: Happy to collaborate as soon as we both have time! Thanks for the review!**

**Chapter 28- Out of towners.**

As she opened her eyes he filled her vision, he was kneeling by her side, softly touching her shoulder to rouse her from her sleep. Christine blinked and forced a smile, trying to recall exactly what had happened and when she had fallen to sleep. Her back ached from being on the hard ground for so long but she realised that she felt oddly revitalised and with a smile she remembered his voice.

The sound had played on her senses and through her tears she had listened to him sing to her, remembering the days when it was all that she longed for.

To hear his voice humming in her ears.

She looked up in the darkness and held her smile there for a second and as he returned her smile he reached his hand out to her, which she took gratefully. He eased her to her feet and she stumbled into him almost knocking him off balance, but he had caught her and steadied her. Her gaze drifted up to his eyes slowly and she looked at him nervously, she was still in his arms.

'Are you okay?' he asked and she nodded, not knowing whether to let go or not. He smiled and moved her away from him so that she was standing with no support. He surveyed her for a moment. 'Will you be okay to walk?'

She looked at him and then down at her own body, she brushed dry dirt off the back of her dress and took one step. Wobbling she stopped and glanced back over to Erik who nodded slowly, stepping over to her then lifting her back into his arms. He began to walk again, made his way over to the road and continued along the path.

'I'll be okay soon Erik.' She said. 'I'm just feeling a little bit drained.'

'We're nearly there anyway,' he said and shifted his arm under her.

He was strong, she thought, he barely even noticed her weight at all. He had walked for hours earlier with her cradled in his arms and he never once complained. She'd forgotten how powerful he was, and how quiet he could be. She longed to talk to him but she feared a repeat of earlier, of making a fool of herself again and of confessing too much to Erik, to whom she should be confessing least.

'I'm sorry about…' she started and he shushed her with a soft smile, which vanished quickly.

'You don't have to apologise to me, Christine.' He said. 'You're tired and things are obviously not all well for you. It's okay.'

'Thank you.' She said and rested her arm over his shoulder softly. 'How long do you think it will be until we reach town?'

'Not long. I think ten minutes actually,' he said and nodded forward. She glanced in the direction of his nod and noticed some light ahead, what looked like buildings and she smiled.

* * *

When they reached the town it was lot bigger than Christine had anticipated and she stared around in awe as Erik gently placed her feet on the floor at the first building they past. She stepped cautiously at first and once the shaking had worn off she didn't feel too bad, allowing herself to keep up with Erik.

The town looked relatively new by London's standards and the streets were quiet, although it didn't seem too late in the night. They walked a little further down the main street before Erik took off down an alley and she was forced to chase after him. At the back of the alley was another street and he poked his head around the corner to check that everything was clear.

When he had convinced himself that there was no one around he walked down the little side street and stopped outside a small house then turned to face Christine.

'Okay,' he said. 'You need to go in here and say that you need a room.' He said and nodded encouragement at her. 'Then come out and get me when you have the key, okay?'

She smiled and took the bag of coins he was holding out for her. She stepped inside and was immediately hit by the warmth of the place, it was light and airy and not at all what she had expected. She chastised herself for not learning about appearances and their deceptiveness and stepped over to the counter.

The gentleman behind it was tall and broad with a bushy moustache and green eyes. He flashed her a grin and leaned over the counter,

'How can I help you?' he asked with a deep voice.

'I need a room,' she said, returning his smile.

'Just you here ma'am?' he asked.

'No, my…' she stopped herself and looked at the man, who was waiting patiently for her answer. 'My husband and I. He is just dealing with our luggage.'

The gentleman nodded and handed her a key before tapping the board next to him which had a list of prices on it. She smiled and handed him a coin, much to his pleasure. When he turned around to take the money into the small room behind him, Christine went quickly to the door and nodded for Erik to come in.

'I hesitated,' she whispered as they made their way up the stairs. 'When he asked if I was alone. I hesitated.' She giggled. 'He thinks I'm a whore.'

Erik couldn't suppress his smile as she opened the door to their room and stepped inside. He followed her and clicked the door shut behind him, taking the key and locking it from the inside. He turned and allowed his eyes to drift over the room, he noticed how comfortable and warm the bed looked and how bumpy the seat opposite him looked.

'The bed is yours,' he said with a small sigh. 'I'll take the chair. I only plan to sleep for an hour anyway, I have things to do.'

'What things?' asked Christine as she made her way over to the bed and lay Erik's cloak on the end. He looked over at her as he settled himself into the seat.

'I'm going to find your husband.' He said and she stared at him.

'Without me?'

'Yes.' He stated simply. She frowned.

'Why?'

'Because from now on things are going to become more dangerous.'

Her frown deepened in her forehead and he could see anger, of all things, shoot across her eyes.

'I want to come' she said and he shook his head firmly from side to side.

'No.'

'Erik, please!' she said.

'No.'

'Erik! I want to help.'

'You may be more hindrance than help, Christine.' He said watching her reaction. Her face changed and she nodded at him, acknowledging that yes, he was probably right but he saw her eyes. She was coming whether he liked it or not, even if she had to follow him.

'Fine but you stay behind me at all times.' He said and she nodded. 'And you do everything I ask.'

'Don't I always?' She said with a smile and a glint in her eyes.


	29. Cold

**A/N: The end of this chapter there is a dedication to Crossfade (the band) whose lyrics I have kind of adapted because I just think 'Cold' is so fitting for this chapter.**

**Chapter 29- Cold**

Christine opened her eyes slowly and realised that there was light pouring in through the gap in the curtain. She leapt out of bed and pulled the curtain aside, it was daytime. She turned around and studied the room, to her disappointment, there was no Erik. She wasn't sure if she was furious or heartbroken that he had gone without her, leaving her alone in this room. Trapped within its walls because she had no idea where she was.

She soon decided that she was both heartbroken and angry.

She slumped back onto the bed, holding her face in her hands, shaking her head slowly. She was in a town somewhere north of London and she didn't know how to get back or even get around the town. She wanted to know where he was and what he had been thinking, she could barely believe that he wasn't there.

* * *

Paul and Thomas pulled up at the first Inn they found at the next town, it was a small house and the gentleman behind the counter seemed the jolly type. They were both suffering from lack of sleep, neither one of them had slept properly in two days and it was started to wear them both down. They needed to rest and this seemed like as good a place as any.

Paul slumped in the chair in the lobby and Thomas wandered over to the man behind the counter who smiled so brightly he forced a smile out of Thomas.

'Hello,' said Thomas, looking tired. 'We need a room for today and tonight.'

'Two rooms or a room with two beds sirs?' the man asked with a smile. Thomas glanced at Paul and shrugged.

'Two beds in one room will do.' He said with a nod. 'I doubt we will be here tonight anyway.'

'Very well Sir.'

Thomas took the key from him and paid him with a smile as Paul began to make his way along the corridor to their room. Thomas followed then stopped abruptly and turned to face the man at the counter.

'One more thing,' he shouted back. 'Have you had any new guests over the last couple of nights?'

'I always have new guests, you'll have to be more specific.' He replied.

'A man and a woman,' Paul said. 'The man would be wearing a white mask.'

* * *

The door clicked open and Erik stepped in, looking sheepish, with a bag under his arm. Christine scowled at him from the bed, the anger and hurt bubbling under her skin but she was secretly glad he had returned.

'Where have you been?' she asked with a harsh tone painting the colour of her voice. He looked at her and dug his hand into the bag then he handed her a piece of thick crusty bread. She took it from him and sunk her teeth into it, her mouth revelling in its flavour, her taste buds dancing at the prospect of food.

'Getting breakfast,' he said and sat in his seat, taking out a chunk of bread for himself. He ate his slowly, swallowing carefully, savouring its taste on his tongue. How long had it been since he had eaten? She held the bread in her hand for a moment, staring at him in front of her. He didn't flinch and the anger she had felt was non existent now, he had brought food and by the look in his eyes, he had brought news.

'What happened?' She asked and he allowed a smile to form across his lips.

'After you had fallen to sleep I must have too.' He said and bit off another large chunk of bread, chewed it slowly, before swallowing it down. 'I slept longer than I'd meant to.'

'So?' She asked. He stood up and wandered to the window where the curtain was still half open from earlier.

'You panicked.' He said simply, closing the curtain and turning his back to the window so that he was facing Christine.

'Excuse me?' she said.

'When you saw that I wasn't here.' He said without expression. 'You panicked.'

'No I didn't'

'Oh no?' he said as a smirk spread over his mouth.

'No!' she said, adamantly. He glanced back over his shoulder and looked at the window before glancing back at Christine and taking another mouthful of bread.

'Why was the curtain open then?' he asked, it seemed a reasonable question to him but obviously not to Christine as she sprung from her seat.

'What did you expect me to do?' she said, at him rather than to him.

'I _expected_ to be back before you woke up.' He said, plainly.

'Why did you leave me?' she said, feeling a lump rising in her throat. 'Why did you leave me alone? You left me on my own!' Her eyes began to sting. 'I don't know where I am and you just went out without telling me, I thought you had gone. I thought you had left me alone!'

Erik's temper flared at the sight of her snivelling in disgusting self pity. He scowled at her and dropped his bread to the floor beside him, stepping over to her and grabbing both of her arms. He glared down at her, eyes burning into hers. The tears stayed clinging to her iris as the hurt took over her body, making her freeze in his hands.

'So now you know how it feels, Christine!' he spat. 'Now you know what it's like to feel like there is no one in the world who will protect you, be with you, care for you.' He growled in her face, watching her eyes blink open and shut at his wrath. 'You _understand _how it feels to be without a friend in the world, without love and sanctuary. Without hope!'

She knew what he was talking about, she did understand but she couldn't move.

'You…' she began, stuttering. 'Y…you… told… me to… leave.'

'I never really wanted you to go!' he said, his grip tightening on her arms. 'I didn't want you to leave!' he shook his head, his voice slowed. 'There were so many things you should have known!'

'Erik!' she said, his name puncturing the air like a knife.

'I loved you!' he said, fighting back tears as he looked into her eyes, so big, so brown. So sorry. 'I wanted you to stay!'

She was lost, her words were stuck in her throat. What could she say to this man? This man that she ruined with her youth and her naivety.

'I never wanted you to see the side of me that stays locked in so deep, the one that I try to keep buried. I didn't want you to see my temper, my hate, my horror. ' He looked at her, slowly his grip loosened but he didn't let go.

'Sometimes… you were cruel.' She said, allowing the tears to flow down her cheeks.

'I know…' he said and nodded. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered as she looked at his face, into his eyes. 'I'm sorry for the lies. I always thought that if you saw me in a different light, if I could _keep_ you for long enough, you could see me stand on my own.'

He bowed his head, letting go of her arms, and stared at his feet.

'You can't keep people…' she said but her tone was soft, her tears still wetting her face, flowing so hard she couldn't stop them.

'I know… I know now.' He said and rubbed his face. 'I'm sorry… I just… I love you… I just didn't… I don't… the … what I meant to say is I'm sorry for the way I am. Or was. I don't mean to be so cold.'

Christine stared at him. Unable to speak she reached her arms out and slid them around his body holding him close. Her arms around him felt like paradise, it felt like safety and he didn't want her to let go. He wasn't sure how it had gotten to this point, to the point where her arms were locked around him and his around her. He didn't know where it had come from but he knew that it felt good, at least for now. She squeezed him tightly to her and rubbed the base of his back gently.

'It's okay,' she whispered, placing her lips gently on his ear. 'I'm sorry too.'


	30. Dead End

**A/N: Amber, thanks for the review and feel free to email me anytime :D**

**SbKar: Thank you, in particular, for your review. It's good to have a new reviewer… aside from my faithful readers, who I love very much.**

**Just so you know… we will be meeting some rather unwholesome characters very soon!**

**Lost: Love your alias! Thank you for the reviews, I try to update as often as University allows!**

**Modesty: As always, thank you. I've been keeping my eye on the developments in your story and am being slowly drawn towards E/OC's of late!**

**Chapter 30 – Dead End. **

Paul was tired and not at all convinced by the answer that the owner of the Inn, Barry somebody-or–other, had given them. Still with the 'no' they had heard he and Thomas had no other option but to head to their room and get some sleep. And boy did they need it.

As he lay under the covers in his bed, opposite Thomas, who was snoring loudly, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced around the room. It was a large room, much to Paul's delight and it was reasonably airy and the beds were remarkably comfortable. He pushed himself into a seated position, stretched his arms out and cracked both shoulders, waking himself up. Yes, he was still tired.

He took one look at Thomas sleeping, glanced at his watch and decided not to wake him just yet. Instead he jumped out of bed and dressed quietly before heading out of the room and down the corridor to see if there was any food on offer.

Barry was standing by the door, looking out and waving to a rather pretty young lady standing with a basket on the opposite side of the street. He smiled wryly to himself and considered that he was probably, no, certainly, not the girls type as she looked uncomfortable and shuffled herself off down the street.

Barry walked back in and was behind the counter before he even noticed that Paul was standing there trying to get his attention. He threw him one of those winning, toothy smiles that he had given the detectives that morning and asked how Paul had slept. Paul had replied with a smile of his own and a 'fine thank you' before making a point of looking around the room for anything suspicious. He knew from experience that you often find things you're not actually looking for and therefore convinced himself it was probably best that he had no clue what he was going to do next.

'So, what can I do for you sir?' Cheerful Barry chirped from behind his counter. Paul fought back a grimace and instead fixed his eyes onto a cob sitting on the table next to him.

'One of… no make that two of those.' He said and Barry nodded, disappearing for a minute and returning with two cobs stuffed with ham and lettuce. Paul's stomach rumbled and he coughed loudly to cover the sound.

'Are you sure you didn't have two new guests last night?' he asked, paying Barry for the sandwiches.

'Definitely not.' He replied. 'Just a young lady, alone.'

Paul nodded and resigned himself to that fact that perhaps Barry wasn't hiding anything and it was just pure luck that he happened to grate on Paul's last nerve.

* * *

Meg and Jennifer had spent most of the morning wandering around the small town, attempting to find evidence of Paul, Thomas, Christine or the Phantom. Jennifer could hardly believe that her plan was going so down hill so quickly. They had lost Paul's carriage not long before they had arrived in the town because they feared getting too close and being seen. It was foolish really, her whole plan was foolish, but from what she had been told she would rather be looking out for her husband than stuck at home worrying about him.

As they walked Meg seemed distant and Jennifer was not sure if it was fatigue or worry that had gotten her into such a quiet state. Jennifer nudged her friend with a small smile.

'Tell me about the Phantom again.' She said and Meg allowed herself a smile.

'It was a long time ago, I'm sure some of my details are off' she said but Jennifer shrugged.

'I don't mind.'

'Well, I was just a ballet 'rat' as they called us back then.' Meg said, nostalgia touching her mind as she talked. 'My mother was the teacher, the mistress and I was learning the trade, as it were.' Jennifer nodded and Meg continued. 'I'm sure you remember how it was, all the hard work…' she paused to look at Jennifer. 'The Opera Populaire was so beautiful, so magnificent and I was so lucky to be able to train there.'

'I wish I could have seen it.' Said Jennifer, smiling. 'Maybe someday…'

'Yes.' Meg replied and Jennifer prompted her to carry on talking. 'Things used to go missing, often we would hear noises but there was never anything definitive. Nobody saw him and nobody heard him.' She closed her eyes as she remembered the way the gas lights lit the stage and the way her mother would look at them when they had done something wrong. 'I was terrified, Joseph Bouquet, used to tell us stories about him and make us all run away screaming. I always felt foolish afterwards.'

'Joseph Bouquet? I remember you mentioning him.' Jennifer said racking her brains.

'He was an old stage hand, not a bad type.' She said with a sigh. 'He was found hanged one day, just… oh God, just hanging there.' She wiped away a tear. 'They say the Opera Ghost did it… I don't have any reason not to believe that.'

Jennifer simply nodded.

'It wasn't until Christine sang that things started to become strange.' Meg continued. 'She would disappear for hours, locked in her room or vanishing completely.' She swallowed hard. 'Then she started … talking about an angel… and things well, we _heard_ him.'

'Heard him?' Jennifer asked.

'Yes, his voice boomed out around us… giving orders to the managers of the theatre.' She said. 'They disobeyed.'

'Oh…'

'Oh God, how foolish they were to disobey him.' She said shaking her head, remembering. 'It had it's moments of humour… one night he had La Carlotta screeching like a toad.' She giggled at the memory.

'I remember reading about it in the papers.' Said Jennifer.

'But… mostly it was sinister.' Meg stopped walking and looked at her friend who was so pretty and so kind and it made her think of Christine in Paris. 'Christine shunned him for Raoul and then, the managers disobeyed him. Raoul tried to fool him… he knew. The Ghost, he knew _everything. _He killed Piangi… and stole Christine.'

She looked at Jennifer and a tear touched her eye.

'He let them go and vanished. I don't know much else.' She stopped and took a deep breath. 'What happened down there before I found his mask, before he released them is anybody's guess.' Meg said with a sigh. 'Christine only ever spoke of it once… when she did she was evasive, saying she didn't want to remember and all she really said then was 'he loved me''

* * *

They continued to walk down the street and were soon greeted by the bustle of a market, people wandering through the streets with their groceries and bumping into each other. They knew they had to eat and so they decided to look around. Perhaps they could buy an apple or some other fruit to keep them for the day.

Jennifer worried about her two boys who were staying with Madame Giry but she knew that with her they were fine. And probably behaving better than they ever had for her. She smiled at the recollection of their faces, they were such cute boys, such good boys. Jeremy was the eldest of the two and he had thick dark hair, like his fathers used to be when he was younger. He also had his dad's strong physique his build and his brains. Their younger boy, Luke, had been blessed with her looks, her light hair and striking eyes but what he gained in attractiveness he lost in his concentration span and power. He had the build of a dancer, not a worker.

As they wandered through the town she noticed how much happier people seemed here as opposed to London where the people always seemed dreary and unhappy. The residents were talking to one another in the street, apologising when they accidentally bumped baskets and generally laughing and smiling. She decided immediately that she liked it here.

It was a moment or two before she realised that Meg had stopped walking and was staring. Jennifer followed her gaze and her eyes happened upon and woman in the market, looking at some vegetables on a stall. The woman had long dark hair which had been pinned up but she could not see her face properly.

'Meg...?' she said but it was too late, Meg didn't hear her as she started to walk towards the woman. Jennifer watched as the woman looked up, noticed Meg, and turned on her heel, walking quickly away from them.

It was at this point that Jennifer recognised her. It was Christine.

Christine could barely believe her eyes and she stared at Meg in the darkness of the alley. The walls of the buildings blocked out the sunlight but she would know her friend anywhere. She had taken a wrong turn and ended up here, which was a dead end and Meg had soon caught up to her.

'Meg…' Christine said as Meg stepped closer to her. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

'Looking for you Christine!' she said. 'We've been so worried!'

'Well, as you can see I'm absolutely fine.' She said and pushed past Meg who bolted around and clocked her path again. Christine saw the anger in her friend's eyes and wasn't sure how to react. This wasn't happening, how had they found her?

'Jennifer,' Meg said. 'Find Paul and Thomas, they're sure to be in one of the main Inns, I'll stay here with Christine.'

With a nod Jennifer was gone and Meg was standing alone, face to face with Christine.

'I'm fine Meg.' She said and forced a smile. Meg did not return it.

'Your house ransacked, your help dead and your husband missing…'

'Dead?' she said and Meg immediately saw the shock spread across Christine's pretty features.

'I'm sorry…' she said. 'I thought he would have told you.'

'Who would have told me?'

'The Ghost. Who else?' Meg said with a smile.

'The Ghost? The Phantom?'

'Yes.'

'You've got it wrong.' Christine said and stared at Meg but she knew her friend better than that.

'Have I? We found the mask.'

'It doesn't mean that you're right Meg.'

'I am. Where is he?' she said and watched Christine's eyes for signs of emotion.

'Just go Meg, you need to leave.' She said.

'No I don't! You talk to me Christine! Why are you protecting him?'

'Meg…'

Suddenly Meg felt a hand around her waste and something over her mouth, a cloth, she fought it for a second and the vision of Christine's face looking perfectly normal was enough to drive her crazy. As she kicked she realised her energy was diminished and slowly she became drowsy…


	31. Meg and the Phantom

**Chapter 31- Meg and the Phantom.**

The light was dim and as her eyes forced themselves open she could barely make out the two figures in front of her. Meg groaned and held her hand to her head, rubbing it softly before focusing her eyes on the Phantom. He was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking over her as if he were tending to her like a doctor.

Half of his face was covered with that dreadful mask, hiding his hideousness underneath and the other side was exposed from what little light the dark curtains allowed it. She was frightened, she had obviously past out but she could not remember a thing now. And she didn't know where she was.

The bed under her body was soft and comfortable, she realised that, aside from a slightly aching brain, she was not hurt and as she glanced around the room she noticed that neither was Christine. Her friend was standing chewing on her finger, a habit she had had since she was a dancer at the ballet, looking over at Meg nervously.

Meg was terrified, it was true, she had always been afraid of this man and now he was sitting next to her, less than a foot away, watching her as she was watching him. She had never been this close to him before, never close enough to touch him or even to see him properly. She looked him over, her eyes finally adjusted to the dullness of the room.

He had wide shoulders that blocked her view of the door and a sharp jaw. The part of his face that she could see, that wasn't hidden, was intense and striking, so angular and structured that she was almost taken aback by it. His hair was dark, no, not dark, it was black, jet black but as her eyes became more accustomed to the lighting she noticed small flecks of grey and despite herself she thought that it suited him. However, what she noticed most of all was his eyes. They were the most powerful blue, so stunning and bright that she wondered if she had ever seen anything so beautiful before in her life. Her mind drifted to the Opera house and not even its beauty compared to what she saw, that second, in his eyes.

He looked at her, knowing that she was studying him, knowing that she was deciding her next move and he smiled.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, voice like silk.

'I'm… I'm ok.' She said.

'Good,' he said with a sharp nod. '_It_ was necessary.'

'Are you going to hurt me?' she asked and suddenly realised that her hands were trembling so vigorously that she had to find the little energy left in her to make them stop. It was a truly impossible task and instead of stopping the shaking she simply hid her hands under the covers.

'Your mother would never forgive me,' he said and stood up. As yet, Christine had not moved, her finger was still by her mouth, one arm was hugging her body. She stood still, watching.

'What's going on?' Meg asked looking from Christine back to the Phantom. 'Opera Ghost?'

'Meg, my name is Erik.' He said simply and glanced at her from the end of the bed. 'I'm helping Christine.'

'Helping her?' she asked.

'Helping me find Raoul.' Christine piped in, stepping forward and collapsing onto the bed hugging her friend. Meg responded by placing her arms around Christine and rubbing her back gently.

'You mean neither of you know where he is?' Meg said turning her eyes over to Erik.

'Erik knows now.' Said Christine with a small smile, pulling back and holding Meg at arms length. 'We're going tonight to get him back.'

'Where is he? Who has him!'

Nobody answered her and Christine responded by standing from the bed and heading to the chest of drawers to retrieve her glass of water. Meg watched as she took a large mouthful, savour it and then take another. She then glanced at Erik whose eyes were following Christine around the room, and suddenly Meg understood.

She wanted to let her friend know that, when she had looked at Erik earlier, she had seen his beauty. It was in his eyes. And when he had spoken, so softly, so gently she had heard his heard his appeal. And now, as she watched him gaze at Christine without even attempting to hide his adoration, she understood.

Still regardless of the deaths and the devastation and all of the chaos this one man caused he was helping Christine rescue the man that had taken her from him. Meg nodded to herself slowly as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. Erik's eyes never leaving Christine as she sipped her water and walked graciously around the room. Christine, not looking at him but knowing that his eyes were on her.

He loved her then and he loved her now and there was no one person on this earth that would ever love her more. She had never seen anyone look at another person that way, with that much love, that much affection and rapidly Meg began to understand.

Suddenly, Meg felt safe.


	32. Circus

**A/N: I haven't checked this chapter for errors so please forgive any. And ignore them. If there are any absolute glaring errors which make it difficult to read please email them to me (on profile) and I will correct them immediately.**

**Chapter 32- Circus**

'Oh Jesus!' Thomas cried as he shook his head with disbelief. His strong features fading to worry and sorrow as he thumped his hand on the banister of the staircase.

Paul stared at the floor of the lobby, anger cursing through his veins, relief following and then being abruptly over taken by concern. The anger was that his wife had followed him out, endangering herself and him in the process. Of course, the relief had come from the fact that she was standing tall and well next to him and he had not found her lying in the river, dead. The concern was for Meg who, only four hours earlier, was wandering around the market with Jennifer. Now she was missing, along with Christine, Raoul and the Phantom.

They had scoured the town from top to bottom, walking around past houses, knocking on doors and asking around. No one had seen or heard anything. Only one positive thing had come out of this and that was, until earlier today, they knew that Christine was alive and well. Now it was pitch black outside and it was no use searching anymore, they were back at the Inn, thinking, struggling in their minds to find at least one piece of information, one clue that would tell them where Meg was.

'How could you have been so bloody stupid?' Roared Thomas said, hitting the banister one last time before spinning around to face Jennifer. 'God, how ridiculous! How … stupid! How stupid!'

Jennifer sobbed quietly to herself, too ashamed to look at Thomas and terrified to look at her husband, to see his disappointment, to see his anguish. Paul watched her and held his hand up to Thomas, who bit his teeth together and stopped his tirade, Paul meant that he had heard enough. Paul looked in Thomas' face seeing all of the fury that a man in love would. He nodded at him but Thomas simply met the gesture with a scowl and collapsed against the wall, leaning on his shoulder and staring hard at Jennifer.

Paul was sure that Thomas was about to fly into another diatribe at his wife when the figure of a woman entering the building stopped him in his tracks. For a moment they were frozen to the floor, all of them staring at her and then Jennifer ran over, throwing her arms around Meg and kissing the side of her face.

Thomas glanced at Paul who was staring in shock at the two women motionless in their embrace and his eyes clouded with confusion. Thomas was sure that they had looked everywhere, they had searched high and low. Spoken to people who they had never met before in a town that was so quiet a kidnapping was unheard of. He looked again at Paul before stepping towards Meg, who was now free from Jennifer's grasp, and surveyed her carefully.

'Are you hurt?' he asked, concern oozing like syrup from his voice. Meg shook her head slowly and sat down on the bottom step of the staircase. Her eyes drifted around the room from Thomas, handsome as ever even with his jaw firm and tense as it was now, to Paul who wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Then she glanced at Jennifer, her friend who had done exactly as she asked and probably ended up facing their wrath alone.

'She's fine too.' She said and they knew that she was referring to Christine. Paul nodded and let out a sigh of relief before slumping into the corner chair and pulling his wife to his lap. He needed her to know that he was forgiving her.

'Was the Phantom there, Meg?' asked Thomas, grinding his teeth.

'He was.' She stated. 'And she's in no danger from him.'

'Did you see Raoul?' Paul said from the comfort of his chair.

'No.' she said. 'The Phantom isn't the man you're looking for Paul. He isn't. He rescued Christine and he is currently trying to rescue Raoul.'

Paul looked at Thomas and then back to Meg who was sitting comfortably looking completely unconcerned with the whole series of events.

'Then who am I looking for?' he asked, bemused. Meg shrugged her shoulders gently and pushed herself to her feet. She gently brushed the back of her dress and walked to Thomas who turned to face her.

'He said that they were going to the circus.' She said and covered her mouth as a yawn escaped. Thomas frowned and rubbed his temple hard. 'They've been gone for nearly an hour.'

'The circus will be closed at this hour!' said Paul and Meg raised her eyebrows at him.

Thomas nodded quickly at Paul who almost threw Jennifer from his lap in his haste. They both grabbed their coats, and pulled them on as they run towards to exit, it was a minute before Paul turned around and stared at Meg.

'Stay here!' he shouted and then he was gone.

* * *

The room was obviously an old work house from the times of the Poor Laws, it was dusty and damp with rails around the room and a few old machines sitting gathering rust. It was dark but Christine's eyes had adjusted to the light well and she could see that there were old windows at the top but at this time of night they let little in to aid the view.

She was crouched down next to Erik in a small nook which was hidden by an old machine, ahead there were two burly men walking around. They both had swords at their waists and this was the first moment since she had been with Erik that she had felt genuine fear.

It had been easy enough to get in, there had been nobody waiting at the door and the bolts had not been locked. They had simply snuck in through the entrance and hidden in the spot they were now still sitting in. Erik had placed his finger on his lips to instruct her to be silent and she had obeyed, they had not spoken a word since they had reached the door.

On the way she had asked him why they were going to the circus, he had shot her a wry smile and continued walking for nearly five minutes before he answered her. She had known not to push the issue. He had told her that this was where Raoul was being kept, the people from the circus had befriended him not long after they had arrived in London. She had nodded as she listened and watched him as he recounted his tale. They had turned on Raoul and plotted to kidnap him, along with Christine, on the night he had found her. When Christine had asked why, he seemed evasive before answering 'probably your money' and going quiet for a second.

There was something else.

She followed him through the back streets and suddenly the half constructed tent appeared in front of them. Next to it was a number of old stalls and a large building, the building they were now sitting in. Before they went in Erik had glanced at her and smiled gently, he told her that under no circumstances was she to do anything he hadn't instructed of her. She had nodded and waited for his instructions. All he had said after that was, 'I can't guarantee he will be alive.'

As she sat with her back against the wall her mind drifted to earlier in the day and she smiled, in spite of herself, as she remembered.

_After they had cleared the air to an extent that day she had held him tight, so tight that she thought he might suffocate. She had apologised to him with so much meaning, so much sincerity that she barely recognised her own whisper. Her lips had fallen on his ear and she had made no effort to move it, his skin was much softer than she remembered. _

_She couldn't quite recall who had broken the hold, she thought that maybe it was a mutual thing. When he had let her go she watched his face form into a small, genuine smile and she found herself smiling back through the tears that were still flowing. As she looked at him his eyes softened and he stepped towards her, her body began to tremble but she didn't move instead she stared at him, watched him. _

_He had reached out and held her hand in his, rubbing it softly with his thumb he looked into her eyes. He read her mind, no, he read her soul in those seconds and she was stuck in a perpetual longing. He tugged her arm gently and she had stepped into his body as he pulled. He had slid his arm around her back and kissed her forehead with a tenderness she had forgotten he possessed. He had kissed her eyes lids and lifted his hand to brush a tear from her face before his lips touched her cheek. They were soft and careful and she loved the way they had felt on her skin. _

_Then he had let her go, telling her that she could leave the room for a few hours and go to the market just in the next street. She had been astonished but agreed, she longed to be out of the place, it was starting to feel stale. When she had asked what he would be doing he had collapsed on the bed and said he would be catching up on some sleep. He was not as young as he used to be._

A bang dragged her from her daydream and she glanced at Erik, who was watching the two men in the centre of the room. They had begun a conversation and Erik had started to move towards them. Remembering his instructions she stayed where she was and prayed silently for his safety.

Suddenly, he stood up absolutely straight and stepped out from behind the machine. She could just about make out the shock on the first man's face as both he and Erik drew their swords. She could only imagine that the other man had done the same. Before he had chance to move Erik and whipped his weapon around and slashed his forearm, causing him to drop his weapon. As the sword clanked on the floor, Erik stepped forward and kicked it aside before punching the man in the jaw.

Christine flinched at the sickening crack that came and Erik turned to face the other man who was slowly moving into her view. Erik lifted his sword and held it in front of him.

'I don't want to hurt you.' He said coldly and stepped around, still facing the man. 'What's your name?'

'I'm David.' He said and lunged at Erik, who side stepped in a move Meg would have been proud of. 'And you?'

'Call me Phantom,' he said, jumping forward with his sword to one side. David had been so focused on the sword that he didn't see Erik's hand spinning around before it connected with his face. David flew to the floor and Erik bent over and picked up his weapon.

'Where is Monsieur Contigue?' Erik asked as he beckoned for Christine to come to him. She stepped out gingerly and ran to his side, he handed her the other sword.

'He is…' said David, spitting blood through his swollen lips. 'Upstairs. Third room'

_French? _Christine thought as she heard his accent. She glanced up at Erik who was looking from David to the other man lying in the corner, looking terrified.

'Which one kicked you Christine?' he asked and she watched as both men sat up straight. She didn't recognise David but she certainly recognised the other man, he had dragged her down the stairs by her hair.

'He did.' She said pointing at him. Erik looked at him and noted that he was certainly the bigger of the two. Erik wandered to the machine and pulled out two lengths of rope. The first length he used to tie David's hands firmly behind his back.

The second he began to tie into a loop.


	33. Freedom

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! I'm trying to get this chapter and possibly another as I have no idea how long it will be before I update again. I imagine things are slowly drawing to a close with this now and I'm starting to consider how I would like it to end. **

**Amber: As always! Thank you! I'll be looking out for your chapter shortly!**

**Modesty: Thank you… where are your updates!**

**Lost: Uni's tough but I figure three and four (maybe five) chapters in one day is good going.**

**Glad I haven't quite lost the plot!**

**Thank you all!**

**Chapter 33- Freedom**

Christine ran to the corridor at the end of the room and slid into the corner, as Erik had told her to when he returned from checking that it was safe. He had instructed her on how to use the sword but she sighed now as she carried it along. It was heavy and made it difficult for her to move, he said when she wasn't moving that she should keep it at her side but not let go of it.

She was waiting for him, staring down the corridor when she heard the crack in the room behind her. Bile rose in her throat and she choked back a gag. The crack was probably the sound of the man's neck breaking as Erik dropped him from the railing, rope taught around his neck. She knew what he was going to do, she didn't want to see it happen and she knew there was no talking him out of it. But the more she thought about it the less she actually wanted to.

It was a minute before Erik was beside her, he had put his sword back and was walking with confidence. He glanced up at the staircase and then followed her eyes along the corridor.

'Follow me,' he said as he plunged himself into the darkness of the hallway.

Christine did as she was told and followed him carefully, her eyes dealing with the darkness poorly. She tripped and there was a clank as she nearly fell to the floor. Erik turned around and headed back to her, he held out his hand and she took it gently in hers. He gave her a nod that he wasn't even sure she could see and carried on walking, this time hand in hand with Christine so that she knew where she was going.

All she had to do was follow him.

'I thought we were going upstairs.' She whispered and he glanced over his shoulder briefly as he moved swiftly along the corridor.

'We are.' He said, short and sharp. 'Soon.'

When they reached the end of the corridor there was a door ahead and he opened it carefully, flicking a switch she heard the hisses of gas and suddenly lights began pop up around the room, illuminating it much brightly that she had expected. Christine pulled her hand from Erik's and covered her eyes. As they adjusted she scanned the room and was horrified by what she saw.

There were rows of cages filled with what, at first glance, looked like poor animals but suddenly she realised that they were not animals at all.

They were people.

* * *

Erik took one glance back at Christine and jogged down the stairs, heading straight for the first cage. When he reached it he grab the bars in his hands and stared down at the middle aged lady inside. Her beard was barely trimmed and it had dirt and bits of food stuck in it. As her eyes opened she looked at him with surprise and then that surprise was quickly replaced with fear.

His knuckles were white on the cage as he looked down at her and forced a smile.

'Bonjour, francais?' he said, cutting his sentence short. He had no time to fool around.

'No,' she said. 'English.'

'Okay' he said and stared at the lock on the door. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a thin piece of steel he always kept for special occasions. He went to work on the lock as the woman looked on, tears springing from her eyes. In a few minutes the lock opened and he gently eased the door ajar.

'Thank you.' She said softly.

'You need to find the keys.' Erik said glancing around the room. 'Then you need to release these people.' He took the woman's hand and pointed at Christine with his other. 'She will help you and when you find the keys you need to take her to where your _boss_ keeps his prisoners, do you understand?'

'Okay.'

With that Erik ran up the stairs to Christine who was standing, welded to the spot, staring at the horrors around her. He could see tears in her eyes as she watched and all the humanity he had missed in his childhood was there with her. When he made it to her he pulled her into his arms, kissing her cheek softly and holding her tight. He nuzzled his nose softly into her hair, his lips moving down to her ear as she pulled him to her.

'You'll be ok now.' He whispered gently. 'These people will help you, you're safer now with them than you are with me.' He saw her terror spread across her face as she opened her mouth to protest, he stopped her by placing his finger softly on her lips. 'There's no more time for argument. Go and find Raoul.'

'Oh Erik…' she said, her voice barely audible.

'I'll be fine.' He said and looked in her eyes. 'Go.'

'Be safe, Erik.' She said quietly as he brushed past her and left her in that room.


	34. Old Enemy

**A/N: short and will probably be revised and added to at a later date.**

****

**Chapter 34- Old Enemy**

Erik's body hummed with anticipation as he made his way back along the corridor towards the stairs. They were to his right now and after a quick peek around the side he made his way up them. At the top of the corridor were three doors and he tiptoed gently towards the third.

He stood outside for a second as the blood cursing through his veins took over and adrenaline finally flooded his body. He turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open to be greeted by the warmth of a burning fire and the sight of a man sitting at the desk. It was a man he recognised well.

'Pierre,' he said, his voice sliding off his tongue. It was pure ice.

Pierre Contigue sat staring at him and slowly a smile spread over his thin lips. Pierre had not changed much since the last time Erik had seen him, he was still fat and he was still bald. He was still ugly on both the outside and on the inside. Erik stepped cautiously into the room, shutting the door behind him but not venturing too close to Pierre.

'Bon sior, Erik.' He said, his voice dripping with resentment. 'It's been a long time, monsieur.'

'Indeed,' Erik said and stared at the old man.

'I've been expecting you.' Pierre said with a smile. 'How have you been?'

'Fine,' said Erik, evenly. 'How have you been, Pierre? I see things haven't altered much.'

Pierre shot him a toothy grin and stood from his seat, walking around his desk slowly towards Erik.

'I knew it was you.' He said, glancing at the fire. 'I knew it was you all along. I heard about the mask. That's how I knew…' he let out a sardonic laugh. 'Have you killed all of my men?'

'No.' said Erik, watching him carefully.

'Good, good.' He coughed. 'Some of them have families.'

'I don't care for their families.' Erik said, glaring at the man in front of the fire. 'And neither do you.'

'I never did care about people.' He said laughing, a laugh that filled Erik with anger and hatred so powerful he had to mentally contain his rage. His eyes didn't leave Pierre for a second as he sat on the edge of his desk, watching him. 'I don't care much for being hit over the head either.'

Erik smiled to himself at the recollection of Antoinette hitting him with the club, he had fallen to the floor like a pathetic child that day so many years ago.

'You owe me your strength, Erik,' said Pierre with a sadistic smirk on his face, his eyes burning with the flames of hell.

'I do owe you something, Pierre.' Said Erik, coldly. 'I owe you for locking me away, for putting _me_ in your _freak_ show…' Erik growled, low and hard. The sight of Pierre had filled him with fury. 'I owe you so much.'

Pierre sprung to his feet pulling out his sword and lunging at Erik, Erik stepped back. Pierre had the sword at Erik's throat and was pressing it carefully against his skin, his mouth inches from his. Erik glared into his eyes, the flecks of light from the fire dancing in them. The metal of the sword was cold against his skin and he smiled at Pierre.

'I'm going to kill you now, Erik,' he said, returning his smile. 'What do you have to say?'

'I hate you for what you did to me.' Said Erik as he pushed his hand towards Pierre's stomach.

He watched as Pierre's eyes filled with horror, the pain flashing in them with the flames of the fire. He listened to the sound of Pierre gagging on his own blood as the sword at Erik's throat dropped to the floor with a clang. Erik could feel warm liquid running over his hand and threw his fingers, Pierre's essence was pouring out over his wrists. Erik stared into his eyes as the life drained from his body and as he pushed him away he pulled the dagger out of his stomach, and held it to his side.

Pierre fell to the floor with a thud and as he did Erik heard the gasp behind him.


	35. Dungeon

**A/N: I managed to find some time to write! I have more time than I expected but now I am scared! I have put so much of my energy into this that as it draws to a close I have no idea what I will do!**

**I think, after this chapter, there will only be 5 or so more. **

**Thank you, as always for your wonderful reviews. They really make me smile!**

_However long the night, the dawn will break. – African Proverb._

**Chapter 35- Dungeon**

The floor was cold and damp, things were no different here than they were to the last place they had stopped. The vomit in his throat was nothing but acid and stomach lining, he couldn't remember when he had last easting anything worth bringing back up. He was sure they would have killed him by now, he was shocked that they had not. Secretly, he wished they would just get it over with, end his life and let it be done.

Raoul lay on his back in the corner of the room, in this place the bars were to his side and around him were three stone walls. There was no way out of here and even if he escaped, where would he go? He didn't know where Pierre had brought him to all he knew was that he was no longer in London.

The fear had all but gone from him now, the last recesses had clung on because of what he had witnessed maybe a couple of nights earlier. He didn't mind dying now, dying was fine to him. Dying would probably be heaven at this point, with his aching limbs, torn muscles and countless broken bones. It wasn't the dying that bothered him at all but it was the manner he would die in which frightened him so much.

He had seen that man beaten to death in front of his eyes. They had made him watch as they punched him and kicked him until he could no longer stand, until his body slumped into a heap at their feet. At this point he was still breathing but he was bloody and battered and Raoul found himself praying for his soul.

Not content with that the two men had continued their assault on the poor man as hr lay on the floor. In fact, they punched him and kicked him until died. Raoul had never before seen anything so barbaric, so horrific. Not even in his vivid nightmares had he seen so much pain in one mans face.

He had leapt up at one point and ran at one of the men, who simply batted him off like a fly. He was weak now, weak from no food, weak from no water and weak from his beatings. Finally, they had walked from the room laughing and yelling triumphantly, as if the man they had just killed was the devil himself. They had left the poor man's lifeless body on the hard stone floor to begin to rot. It had been around a day before they had moved him.

Raoul had not seen Pierre since he had been down in this pit, the last he had seen of him was in the carriage on the way over when he had spat in his face. Raoul knew that the way he had behaved was wrong, he knew from the bottom of his heart that it was. He had flirted with Pierre's wife, tried to woo her to bed like to pathetic school boy with his first crush. Raoul gagged at the thought of his betrayal of Christine.

Oh, Christine. What have they done to you? His mind reeled as she once again entered his thoughts, she had occupied them for most of the time he had been there. As she had since the say he met her.

He did not know quite how long he had been in the cage, the dungeon. It could be days, 3 or 5 or perhaps it was weeks. The days seemed to blend together when he lost himself in his memories of Christine. She had saved his sanity while he had been here but he was sure that she was dead. And now he wanted to die. How could he ever live knowing that he had been the reason that she was dead, that she was killed? He could never live with that thought.

One day the devil will come to me, he thought as he closed his eyes, picturing Lucifer in his vilest form. He prayed for that day to be now.


	36. Angel of Hell

**Chapter 36- Angel of Hell**

The room fell silent as she stared from Erik to the body of Pierre Contigue lying utterly lifeless on the floor. His face was white as the last thing he had seen on this earth; Erik's mask. The tears flowed unstoppable down her young, plump cheeks as she dropped to her knees, pulling Pierre into her chest, stroking his hair, kissing his head and getting covered in scarlet blood in the process.

Erik watched the scene for a moment thought that he felt a twinge of pity tap his heart, but it was soon gone and he stared down at the woman clinging to Pierre's motionless carcass. He had been dead for no more than five minutes but the ecstasy cursing through Erik's veins felt like it had been there an eternity. The bliss of knowing that he had finished him, he alone had brought his death, was immeasurable.

Pierre Contigue was as evil as the day was long, his carnivals and circus's had long been the bane of many poor souls existence. It had certainly been the bane of Erik's. He had spent years with that man, cooped up in a cage like some wretched beast, some defenceless animal. It had been his mother's fault of course, if Pierre was evil his mother was surely the devil himself. Handing him over to that monster when he had been so young. He had wasted enough time hating his mother, someone he would never forgive but never really be able to get to. She was dead already, after all. Pierre was different matter.

Erik knew as soon as he saw the henchmen, the mess, he knew it was Pierre's handy work. It couldn't have come at a better time, finding Christine and now, _rescuing_ Raoul. Of course, Christine had been his ultimate catalyst, the boy could never die so long as Christine wished him alive. If her heart had broken then Erik's would certainly be dead. However, she should never fool herself by believing that Erik's only motive was her, or that he simply wanted to rescue de Chagny, that could never be.

He glanced once again at the sobbing mass of hair covering Pierre's God awful face, that pompous mouth.

'Papa,' she cried and Erik had to force himself not to smile. She looked up at him, hate flooding her body but he just stared. 'What have you done?' she said.

'I thought that was obvious,' he said and allowed that smile he had been holding down so hard to emerge on his face. She spat at him as she leapt to her feet.

'How could you?' she screamed and bolted towards him hands flailing like a flag in the wind. One connected with his chest and he grabbed it, stopping the other one mid flow and holding her off her feet.

He threw her to the floor.

'I was wondering when you'd arrive,' he said and leant casually against the door frame. He had barely broken into a sweat since he had arrive, there wasn't a hair out of place.

'You… knew?' she asked, her resolve crumbling as she sat up and hugged her knees.

'I found out quickly enough.' He said. 'I see the family resemblance now. It's striking.' He grinned. 'Unfortunate child.'

She sobbed and rocked, arms holding her knees to her chest, tears dripping onto her hands. He grimaced at the sight, pathetic. Horrific.

She looked up at him and held the dagger out in front of him, blood dripped from it's edge and she looked away. Erik wandered over to her and turned her face to look at him. He leant down and rested the blade of the dagger under her chin, watching the fear in her eyes. Big, soft eyes. Big _bland_ eyes.

'Tell me, Rebecca, why I shouldn't kill you?'


	37. Confusion

**A/N: Oh sorry about the hiatus! So stuck on this chapter.**

**Now, Rebecca is a funny one…**

**The last chapter should have gone slightly differently but I altered it. Also, the confusion stems from the fact that I chose to leave out a Rebecca chapter I had written earlier in the story. I felt that chapter took away from the current chapters so I left it out.**

**This chapters purpose is to make your mind spin… not so much that it is entirely unreadable but it is an awkward chapter… I wanted to show Christine's mind set. Confusion sums it up.**

**Please stick with me.**

**Thank you, as always for the reviews! They make my day.**

'_I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.' – Gilda Radner_

**Chapter 37- Confusion**

The smell was horrific, absolutely horrific. It wafted through the dank corridors underneath the old workhouse and found Christine's nose. She had no idea what the stench was, she had never smelt anything like it before but it was strong. And the further down the corridor they walked the worse it got.

The walls were dripping damp, it was cold and she could, even with the limited light of the burning torch, make out her breath in front of her. Her fingers were starting to numb but still she continued, her eyes squinted so much that it hurt. So far she and two of the people Erik had rescued had encountered two guards and they had shown little mercy to them. She had turned away when they had made their onslaught, not wanting to see the mess or hear their screams. Closed her eyes and covered her ears and walked past, pretending, as she had been so adept at recently, that she was totally oblivious.

She couldn't really blame them, she had seen the conditions they were in and the way they were left in the dark. All of the men, women and children they had released had been caked in dirt and were as thin as rakes. They barely had any flesh on them, their ribs protruded sickeningly from torsos. Christine had some how managed to hold back her gags as they eyed her and surveyed her suspiciously. She could hardly believe Erik had left her with them but, she reasoned, if she wasn't safe then he would never have left her there. He had already gone to so much trouble.

The more she thought about it, though, the more it seemed odd that he _had _gone to so much trouble. He had tended to her wounds like a doctor and cleaned her like a maid. He had found her clothes and found her food. He had also tracked down her husband so that he could be rescued.

Her memories of Erik were distorting her mind and she remembered how he used to be. He was such a cruel man sometimes, with a heart of stone, so angry and so full of angst. His temper hadn't changed too much, she noted, it never took much to make him flip his mood but when he did he rarely aimed it directly at her.

When they were at the opera he would speak to her in such a way that it filled her heart with confidence and, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, joy. The Erik of now was certainly more adaptable but perhaps that was his age, she thought as she nearly tripped over a rock.

She glanced around her and noticed that they were in yet another corridor, a labyrinth Erik would be proud of. Oh, Erik, she thought. She longed to know how he found out where Raoul was being held, he seemed to know so much. Too much, she thought and followed the two men down a separate hallway.

As she walked her mind buzzed with thoughts and memories of Erik, of their history and of their present. So many things had happened in the last week that she wasn't sure if she would wake up soon to find that it was a nightmare. Or perhaps it was a dream, a dream to see Erik again to be with him and speak to him like they were friends. A dream to look into his eyes and watch them soften at the sight of her, making _her_ weak at his sincerity. His eyes often gave him away to her, they always had in the past and they did now.

She wondered where he was now, what he was doing. She wondered if he was watching her as he often did, as he had in the market place with Meg. She knew, though, that he had gone to find this Monsieur Contigue and as her mind flew back to their history she wondered where she had heard the name before. Something in her gut had told her that Erik was chasing a ghost, though what sort of ghost it was she did not know and was not sure that she cared to.

'Madame!' she heard from along the corridor, she hadn't realised how far behind she had fallen.

Where was Erik? Was he okay?

'Madame, here!' they shouted again and she sped up to catch them. They had found something.

Erik… her mind drifted again, stay focused Christine. But where had she heard it?

'Quickly! Bring the torch!' they yelled and she hurried further along, light ahead of her.

Monsieur Contigue… Rebecca Contigue she thought as she reached the voices.

'Is it him?' one asked and she peered through the bars but she was barely looking. Her mind was elsewhere.

Remember.

'Chris… Christine?' came a gasp from behind the bars, it was coming from the corner. She strained her eyes to see. Focus!

Raoul, she thought, as she poked the torch through the bars in an attempt to light the room.

Contigue… _where_?

Rebecca…

Suddenly, Pierre, she thought.

Odd.

'Raoul,' she said but her mind was not there, not really. Her mind was with Erik, with Contigue… was it Pierre Contigue? Who..?

She heard a rasped reply, it sounded like _help me_.

What? Her mind, why couldn't she concentrate? Save your husband, Christine, she thought, shaking herself but she couldn't. Not right now.

Her thoughts, her confusion.

Pierre.

Where had she heard his name?

Her mind drifted, she was young. A dancer… she'd heard his name before, she knew she had. All Erik' had said was Monsieur Contigue but she _knew _it was Pierre.

How did she know? Had Rebecca mentioned it?

No, she was sure she hadn't. Or was she?

'Christine,' came the rasped voice, it sounded like Raoul's… she thought it was Raoul.

Why was her head spinning?

Dancing, flicking her heels, spinning on her toes…

She had…

Jumping, pirouetting, flying across the stage, a butterfly free from her cocoon.

His name…

Her mind flashed again, so young, so long ago… she was watching two people talk.

A man.

A woman.

_Madame Giry!_


	38. Resolution

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews as always! Very much appreciated!**

**Amber: Was most certainly a homage to your fic ;). Thank you for the review.**

**Modesty: Thank you, as always. How was your break?**

**Lost: I'm happy to review your stories, I believe it is courtesy to at least take the time to read your reviewers work! Thank you for the review!**

**Excuse Sp/ Grammatical errors… its been a long day and I'm about to go out to work!**

**Dark Erik… I _love _a bit of dark Erik!**

_'Choices are the hinges of destiny'. Edwin Markham_

**Chapter 38- Resolution**

'Because…' she said, quietly, swallowing down the large lump that had formed in her throat. 'Because I haven't done anything.'

Erik stared at her disgusted.

'Let me explain to you…' he began. 'The dilemma I now find myself in.'

She nodded slowly, leaning back away from the dagger that he was still holding at her throat. He smiled mercilessly and took the edge away from her, holding it at his side and collapsing against the wall. He leant there for a moment, looking at her, trying to find something about her that he liked. So far there was nothing. Her face was boring and plain, her eyes were dull. She was related to the late, he grinned as he thought it, Pierre, and she was a liar.

'When you told me about Raoul… it seemed strange that a nurse maid would know so much, you see Rebecca, I've never been stupid.' He grinned, flashing her a glimpse of his teeth. 'I may be ugly, but I am NOT stupid.'

'I know…'

'Shush,' he demanded and stood up straight, glaring down at her. 'Then… you spoke to your father. Told him about… me.' His voice was even and slow and she felt the terror rise under her skin. 'You didn't know who I was but the fact that I had reacted to your… _story_… sent you running to tell him about me.' He continued, watching the tears streaming down her face which proved only fuel to his tempo. 'He knew though, when you told him about the mask…'

'He didn't tell…'

'Shut up!' he snarled, mouth half open, teeth clenched, stepping closer to her. 'I don't want to hear it.' She blinked and he nodded. 'And tell me… tell me how they knew about her. About Christine. Her habits. What time her servants went to their rooms, how did they know?'

Rebecca stared at him, watching the anger across his face. He began to pace, slowly, methodically around the room, around her, then backwards and forwards, glancing at her the daggers edge glinting with the blaze of the fire.

'How did they know what time the guard went home, she did have a guard, a chaperone for most of the day, did she not?'

Rebecca nodded slowly and swallowed hard, he was terrifying her and he was enjoying it.

'Because…' he continued through his gritted teeth. 'Raoul would not leave her alone in a city she still barely knew when he was out most of the time.' He stood still for a moment, towering over the shivering wreck crouched at his feet. 'You told him everything.'

'But…' she began and he dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes fixed on to hers and he grabbed her shoulder with his free hand, squeezing it hard, digging the tips into her flesh. She held back a yelp, the pain showing in her eyes only increased his ferocity.

'You're disgusting.' He growled, fighting the urge to rip her from the floor and throw her down the stairs. 'Why shouldn't I kill you?' he spat, asking again, his tone menacing, he mocked her, she could see it in his eyes.

'Don't…' she said and choked back a sob. 'I didn't know…' and that was it, the tears flooded her face, over taking her dullness with a crimson that he didn't think her flesh could muster. The colour was blood and it made him smile, it made his black soul smile. 'I didn't know!' she whimpered.

'Of course you did!' he said, raising his voice, eyes burning into her flesh. 'You _told_ me yourself!' he slid the dagger back under her throat and stared into her eyes.

'Please…' she begged. 'Please…'

'This is my dilemma,' he said. 'To spare you and risk my own demise, or Christine's… your family are still alive and you _will_ tell them' She looked at him through tears. 'Or to kill you and let you bleed here next to your pathetic excuse for a father and risk it on my conscience.'

'Oh… please' she gasped, she had no dignity left.

'Of course,' he said, a smirk forming across his lips. 'I never did have much of a conscience.'

* * *

'It's cold!' Jennifer grumbled outside the building unsure whether or not they should enter.

Meg looked over at her and smiled a girlish grin which would have made the coldest heart melt. They were standing outside a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, wrapped only in their day clothes and shawls. It was freezing, the temperature had dropped considerably since they had disobeyed Paul's orders and followed them to the warehouse. Jennifer had not been so sure, she didn't think that Paul would ever forgive her this final insult to his masculinity.

'I think we should return to the Inn.' She said decisively and Meg flashed her that smile again.

'Don't be silly!' she said. 'We'll be fine. Just one glimpse and we can leave.'

What she meant, of course, was that they were here to curb Jennifer's curiosity about the phantom. One glimpse of him and then they would be gone and Jennifer would have seen for herself that he truly exists. Jennifer's analysis of the danger was now at the forefront of her mind and Meg's nonchalance only frightened her more. But as a child she had wanted to see him and as an adult her interest had only grown.

One glimpse.

Jennifer nodded her head slowly and prepared herself to walk inside, she was surprised that Paul and Thomas had left the door open but they wandered in anyway and tucked themselves behind what looked like an old piece of machinery. Meg crouched behind it and poked her head around the side seeing Thomas pulling something down from the railings which were situated high up the walls. It looked like some attached to a piece of rope but Meg couldn't tell what it was from where she was kneeling.

Jennifer glanced over Meg's shoulder and saw a man tied in the corner, with Paul looking down at him. As she watched Meg edged out slightly and Paul moved away from the man, directing his attention to the corridor to his right. Thomas placed whatever it was that he had been grappling with in the darkest corner of the room and covered it with a sheet before following Paul to the corridor.

Meg grinned at Jennifer and slowly walked across the room towards to corridor, beckoning for her to follow. She sat for a moment before nodding and gingerly tracing Meg's steps across the room.


	39. A Dish Best Served Cold

**A/N: Please, please excuse the slow update! I'm working on it, honestly! Lol**

**Thank you, as always for the wonderful reviews!**

**Sbkar: Welcome back lol! Thank you for ALL of your reviews. It had certainly pushed my total up!**

**Modesty: Do you think Erik has killed her or spared her:D I've just read your update! Very good,**

**Amber: Looking forward to reading the next instalment… thank you for the review.**

**Lost: So nice! You're so nice and you have the same attitude as me when it comes to reviews. Do to others… etc!**

**Again please excuse any mistakes. Its been a long few days!**

**E-mail any bad mistakes to me and I will immediately correct them!**

**Onward!**

**Chapter 39- A dish best served cold.**

_It had not been long after Christine had first arrived at the opera house that she had heard that conversation. It was amazing how quickly it had come back to her, tumbling like spray from a waterfall into her mind. She had not been much more than seventeen years old and was still young in her mind, not matured enough to be without her father. He had been such a shelter in her life._

_She remembered it now, almost word for word that conversation because the words had frightened her so much and they had been so heartfelt._

_Christine had been exploring the theatre one morning in early spring, she had wandered through its hallways and through the seats up to the boxes to the side of the stage. The beautiful upholstery, the fabulous colours, the comfort afforded for the people who flocked there to see the operas. As she turned the corner towards box five she had seen a shadow disappear into the distance in one direction and then suddenly she heard voices from the other. She recognised the female voice immediately as that of Madame Giry, the ballet mistress. _

_Her voice was cold and hard and she was talking to a man. The other voice in the room was strained, as if someone were making the effort to sound nice. It hadn't worked very well at all and she could hear to impatience in Madame Giry's voice as she approached. _

_As Christine had gotten closer she peered around the wall into the Box and there was Madame Giry conversing with an older gentleman, pug faced and tall. She was animated as she spoke to him and her hands were moving in front of her, whatever she had been saying she sincerely meant,_

'_Monsieur Contigue!' she exclaimed. 'I will not allow you to take any of my girls.' _

_Christine had huddled down allowing her young curiosity to gain control over her better judgement. Her better judgement was something she had used rarely as a child but this occasion was one of those she wished she hadn't heard. _

'_Madame,' he began. 'With all due respect your girls would be much better travelled with me. They would enjoy it so much more!' _

_It was then that Christine had caught a glimpse of the Madame's face, full of fire and from what Christine could see, rage. It had contorted into an angry frown as she glared at the man, standing there looking so confident. _

'_They will not take part in your carnival!' she had growled. 'I will recommend none!' _

'_Just two?' he said, 'Two and I will be gone. They are good but would be better off with me!' _

'_None.' She said firmly. _

'_Then why did you meet with me at all?' he snapped, his voice shifting from calm to angry so quickly. _

'_I was told to.' She said and began to turn towards the exit. Christine had had to jump back so that she wasn't seen and she hid herself behind the curtain, nervous and praying they would not hear her heart thudding._

'_By whom?' _

'_By the man who runs the theatre, Pierre.' She said with a wry smile. Pierre Contigue had glanced at her with curiosity as she turned again to face him. _

'_Then surely he wants you to recommend a rat to me, a dancer I can use, mould for my circus!' he asked, agitated._

_Madame Giry had simply but firmly shook her head. That was a no to Pierre Contigue and he was not a happy man. _

'_Then why did he say to meet with me?' Pierre asked, exasperated. _

'_He wanted me to give you a message.' She said simply. _

'_And what message would that be?' Pierre had said, smiling with amusement. _

'_If he ever hears your voice in his opera again he will cut your Adams apple from your throat and make you carry it across the stage.' _

_And with those words Christine's eyes had widened, she had never heard such evil or disgusting words before and certainly not from the ballet mistress. It wasn't simply what was said it was the way she had told him. The way she had delivered this message. Her mouth twisting around the words, breathing ice on them for that split second and Christine had heard an emotion in them she did not recognise._

As Christine thought about that encounter, in Box 5, her heart pounded. Everything spilled into her mind and made sense, over taking her thoughts. The emotion in Madame Giry's face was hate and the words were those of Erik. Suddenly it had all come together, over ten years later.

Christine glanced at the two people helping her husband from the floor of the cell as she held the torch aloft for them so that they could see. Erik had been one of these people. He had been one of Contigue's captives and this expedition wasn't about Raoul or Christine. It was about revenge.

Raoul couldn't believe his eyes, or his eyes… or anything for that matter. He looked up and there they were, all three of them standing at the cage door with a torch burning in front of them. At first, when he heard the noises from down the corridor he was sure that it was Pierre's men come to finally end his misery but no. It had been Christine come to end it, to save him.

Her voice was like heaven outside of that door, he could see her through the bars and although the flames hurt his eyes he could not stop looking at her. For a while he thought he was imagining if or it was an angel, she had come down to bring him up so that they could be together in death as well as in life. He had spent the last Lord knows how many days in the belief that she was dead. But she was not! She was alive and well and standing in front of him like the goddess that she was!

The two people she was with helped him to his feet and he was shakey, barely able to put one foot in front of the other but he knew that he had to. Christine had stayed at the door and he needed to get to her, he needed to hold her and feel her warmth. This was all almost too much for his weak body to handle.

He staggered towards her and as he got there she seemed to snap out of a day dream and she threw her arms around him, crying his name into his neck. Oh, her lips on his neck. He never thought he would feel it again, never again! Oh how he'd missed her, her body shivered against his and he squeezed her with all the power he had left.

'You need this,' came a deep voice from behind him and as he turned to face one of the men Christine had arrived with he found a pistol being placed into his hand. 'We will be going now. The back way.'

'And us?' Christine asked as Raoul took the weapon and held it as tightly as he could.

'Follow the same path as before.' The other man said with a smile. Raoul looked from Christine to the men who were in poor shape, both dirty and deformed in some way.

'Your names?' he asked them softly and they looked back at him in shock.

'I am Claude.' Said the first.

'I am Frederick.' Said the other, with a nervous tone. And with this Raoul extended a shakey hand to them. Claude was first to accept and shook it gently, Frederick stepped forward and followed his friends example.

'Thank you.' Raoul said with a gentle nod and the two men turned their backs and left as he silently prayed that they would be okay.

* * *

**A/N: Already bloody corrected something! lol**


	40. Darkness

**Chapter 40- Darkness**

There was no light at all, not even a little bit as Paul and Thomas made their way through the corridor off the main hallway. Paul could barely make out the outline of Thomas in the dark and the harder he tried to see him the worse his sight seemed to get. It was a few moments before he stopped and stood still and turning to where he though Thomas might be standing.

'I think we should split up.' He said and waited for the reply. It was a couple of beats before it came and Paul had begun to break into a sweat.

'Yes,' Thomas replied, 'I think that's probably a good idea, we'll never cover the whole place if we're together.'

Paul nodded though he realised there was no way Thomas could see him. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and under his shirt collar and made him squirm on the spot.

He was afraid.

The whole place was buzzing with fear. Not only his but he could feel Thomas' as he stood next to him and he could feel the de Changy's. He had no idea what he would find especially after Thomas had pulled the body of that man down from the rafters and he had found the other gentleman weak and tied in the corner. He knew that somewhere in this building the phantom was playing in the shadows. He just wasn't sure what the game was.

'I'll go this way.' Said Paul, tugging on Thomas' arm to indicate the direction. He could hardly believe how many corridors there were.

'Okay,' was the reply 'Meet you back in the main room in a while.'

And with that they both went their separate ways.

* * *

The pitch blackness was more than she could handle as she stumbled along the hallway, her back to the wall, trying to make head or tail of where she was. She thought about going back in the direction she came, it seemed like a sound idea, until she realised that she had no idea which way she had come from. All she knew was that she had lost Meg, for the second time in less than a day. She had lost Meg in this warehouse of hell and darkness and she had no idea how to get out.

Jennifer looked up at the windows which lined the ceiling of the corridor and thought that at least in the day there would be more light if she could make it that long. She knew this had been a foolish move, a foolish thing to do generally. Meg had always been like that, so fearless and bloody impulsive and this is always what it meant for Jennifer. She usually ended up lost, stranded or in trouble with Paul. This time she was sure that she would either end up all three or dead. With that thought she swallowed hard and rather hoped that Paul would simply be furious and not grieving over her body.

She tapped the wall with the back of her hand as she walked across in the vain hope that she might find a door that would lead her back outside. This place was like a maze, the worse maze she had ever been in. Jennifer had never been particularly good with mazes. As she trembled in the corner she remembered the time that she went to a huge maze back in France with her two sisters and their brother. They had entered the same way but soon got split up when they all panicked trying to find their way out. If it had not been for the kind gardener who had found her she was positive that she would have died there.

She tried to look around her again but saw nothing and turned around to go back the way she came. If it was the way she came at all. As she moved along the outline of the corridor she heard a noise behind her. Or at least, she thought she had heard a noise behind her. She chastised herself out loud for being so stupid and continued to edge along the hall. The bricks clicked under her feet and… no, there is was again! She had definitely heard something.

She spun around quickly and tried to focus her eyes, nothing. She was imagining things she thought as she took a deep breath. No! A clicking noise! Behind her? But… she'd just turned around, how could it be behind her? Jennifer, she thought, you are seriously losing your mind. She carried on along her path, hopefully in the direction of some sort of light.

Click.

This time she knew she had heard something and as she turned again she felt something hit her chest and she fell to the floor hard. She was sure someone had knocked her down with their hand. At least it felt like a hand. It ached but the pain was dull and slowly subsiding. As she lay there she felt someone walk over her. Step over her. Oh God, she couldn't see a thing.

And then it was gone. Whoever or whatever it was simply disappeared down the corridor.


	41. Onward

**Chapter 41- Onward**

'Jennifer?' Meg whispered. 'Jennifer, are you there?' a little louder.

No answer. She had no idea which way Jennifer had gone and how long ago they had lost each other. They had tried to follow Paul and Thomas through the corridors but had lost them quickly and then lost each other. Meg hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was beginning to get frightened. The longer she was with company the more suffocating the building seemed to be.

That was when she heard the sound ahead of her, somewhere from the other end of the corridor. It sounded like people talking and it seemed to be getting closer. She strained her eyes in the direction of the voices and there appeared an orange glow, under it a hand.

'Meg?'

It was Christine!

'Meg? Is that you?' she asked as they got closer.

'Christine,' Meg cried and ran quickly towards the light. As she ran she noticed another figure with her, a man. He was dishevelled and half propped up on Christine's arm and the smell was terrible from his direction. It was definitely not Erik.

'What are you doing here?' Christine hissed. 'Didn't you listen?'

Meg stared at her friend and then to the man who looked up at her for the first time. To Meg's horror she recognised the face and the dashing dark eyes. It was Raoul.

'Raoul!' she exclaimed, unable to peel her eyes away from him. 'You're alive!'

Raoul managed to force a smile at her and then began to hobble onward. Meg turned to Christine he slid her spare arm back around her husband and clung to him desperately.

'Where is…?' Meg began but a side glance from Christine immediately told her that she had not told Raoul how she had found him nor did she intend to. Meg wondered where Erik was as she followed Christine and Raoul along the hallway, happy for the company and for the light.

'Are you okay?' she asked, aiming the question at both of the De Changys. Raoul grunted a yes and Christine simply nodded solemnly. Meg sighed, at least he was still alive. As they continued along the corridor Meg fell a little further behind. She was distracted by looking around, trying to find Paul, Thomas or Jennifer. Ahead of her she could see that Christine had wandered into the opening of the main warehouse and Meg leaned against the wall, relieved that they had finally found some light.

She stood still to rest, realising that her legs were aching severely and as she did she heard another voice from the warehouse.

It was male.

It wasn't Raoul.

She followed the sound quietly.


	42. Devestation

**Death is a punishment to some, to others a gift and to many a favour.  
Seneca.**

**Chapter 42- Devestation**

Erik stood there, blood coating his arms and hands, holding his hand to the dagger at his side. He stared at the door as they emerged from it and gritted his teeth at his error of judgement. Christine had found Raoul far quicker than he had anticipated.

He watched as the Vicomte's face contorted into horror at the sight of him and somehow he managed to suppress a wry smile. Now was not the time. Christine's face, on the other hand, was a different matter. She was not happy at all and she was showing it from the glare in her eyes, the tense way she was standing.

Raoul stared at him, and pushed Christine to one side before pulling a pistol from his jacket pocket and holding it out straight in front of him. Erik watched as Christine stumbled to the ground next to the wall and he watched as the fear spread across her face. Raoul did not even glance down at her, he didn't want to take his eyes off Erik, not for a second.

Erik was standing less than a halls length from Raoul and from the end of his pistol. The chances were that he was seconds away from death and the thought comforted him somewhat.

'Phantom!' Cried Raoul, holding the pistol up straight but shaking violently. Christine stared from her husband to her saviour and back to the pistol in Raoul's hand.

'Raoul no!' she said, firmly but Erik knew her voice was breaking. He had heard it at its most perfect, he had heard it at its worst. He knew when her pitches changed, he knew when the tones and the tempo altered. He knew that she was faltering. 'Please Raoul, put the gun down.'

Erik smiled at Christine, he hadn't expected her to beg on his behalf, particularly after he left her alone in the cellar, after she had found her Vicomte. Raoul's face filled with horror and he shook the pistol hard to get Erik's attention.

'Don't smile at her! Monster!' he shouted. 'Don't _look_ at her!'

Erik shrugged nonchalantly and aimed his gaze back at Raoul, keeping the smile attached to his lips.

'You… bastard!' he yelled and stepped towards Erik, as Erik looked on in amusement.

'Raoul stop!' begged Christine, trying to stand up.

'No, Christine.' Raoul shouted back to her. 'He is haunting me. It's him, he won't leave us… he did it. He must have. I should have known!' His hand was still trembling. 'I'll shoot. He's stalking me, following me!'

'I think your husband needs some water, _Madame._' Erik said, the words slipping off his tongue like venom. 'It appears he's slightly delirious.'

'Raoul…' she said, struggling to her feet as he gained more ground on Erik.

'Perhaps if you were honest for a change my dear…' said Erik, glancing in Christine's direction for a brief moment and then facing Raoul again.

'It's time!' said Raoul, choking on his words. Stepping towards Erik. 'No more now!'

'Raoul stop!' she yelled. 'Please! He saved us, saved you!'

'I don't believe you.' He growled and shot her a look over his shoulder, stepping forward. Getting closer and closer to Erik.

'Raoul, please!' Christine cried. 'Please, give me the pistol… there's no need. No point… Raoul. Give me the pistol!'

Raoul stopped walking and stood still for a moment, before glaring back over his shoulder at his wife heaped on the floor.

'So you can shoot me in the back?' he asked as he turned back to look at Erik. 'He won't haunt us anymore. When he's gone, there will be no more! When he's dead…'

'He doesn't die! Phantom's don't die!' screamed Christine as Erik looked on. 'He will live inside you!'

'He wants to live on inside you,' Raoul snapped and raised the pistol once more, aiming it at Erik's chest. Erik too, took a step forward and the room suddenly began to feel claustrophobic. 'Don't move! I'll shoot.'

'Then shoot, _Monsieur_,' Erik said, the tone in his voice changing to disdain. Raoul stared at him, the pistol wobbling in his grip.

'Don't think I won't!' Raoul shouted, standing still and pulling the pistol up to eye level.

'Then what's stopping you?' Erik asked, stopping. They were barely ten feet apart and Erik's eyes flashed with rage, the memories, the pain and anguish all flooding back. 'Do you think I value my life?' he growled. 'Do you think I care if I live or die?'

Raoul stared, gun out in front, hand still unsteady. Erik watched him tremble, he stayed still.

'Shoot me!' he yelled. 'Be the man who killed the Phantom!' Erik grinned. 'Or just be a man.'

'He mocks me Christine!' Raoul laughed nervously. 'He mocks the man pointing a gun at his chest!'

'Kill me!' he said. 'Fire!'

'You are **mad**!' Raoul cried, sweat pouring from his forehead.

'No,' said Erik, calmly. 'I am not mad. Not anymore.' Erik glanced from Christine to Raoul. 'I have nothing to live for.'

Christine looked at the two men standing, facing each other like two warriors about to do battle.

Raoul, his dirty blood soaked clothes clinging to his body, his hair matted down on his head. Then she looked at Erik, dry blood turning his hands a dark pink, his own clothes clean.

Raoul, bearded with dirt and grit in the hairs. Erik, cleanly shaven and fresh faced.

Raoul haggard and filthy. Erik, like a statue, strong and graceful.

Their roles had been reversed for that moment, Erik looked dashing and the hero of the tale but Raoul was worn and tired, looking old and ill. Almost ugly. And Raoul, well, Raoul was the madman, he had no idea what he was saying, no idea what he was doing. He was like a scared child. But Erik was so calm, so collected and so in control as he stood staring down at Raoul.

'I have nothing to live for,' he said. 'When you leave here you take her with you again.' Erik shrugged his shoulders gently, the smile had evaporated from his face. 'Noble Vicomte, put me from my misery.'

Raoul glared and Christine, despite her efforts, sobbed.

'No, please.' She said, cries ripping through her body. She tried to compose herself as Raoul stared and once again took aim on Erik. He was really going to do it. 'Not for me Erik, run.'

'I will not run,' he said simply, still watching Raoul but speaking to Christine. 'It isn't death I fear, Christine.' Oh her name on his lips, hell for Raoul, heaven for Christine.

'Shut up!' Raoul cried, what was going on in his mind. Was he really so frightened of what Christine and Erik had that he would risk everything to rid the world of the phantom.

'Raoul no!' said Christine, watching his finger tremble on the trigger. 'Please, Erik move away!' she pleaded, she begged. She cried. 'Not for me!'

'You're not the reason I'll die, Christine.' He said, voice soft as silk. 'If anything you are the reason I'm still alive.' He forced away a tear. 'So don't feel sorry when he pulls the trigger. When I go.' Christine stared at him though the tears were stinging her eyes.

'Erik!' she said.

'Stop it!' Cried Raoul. 'He has haunted you Christine. He's a ghost!'

'Christine, remember, I may be gone from your sight, as I have been before, but not from your heart and not from the music.' Erik said, ignoring Raoul and forcing a smile at her, taking his eyes away from the astounded Vicomte. 'You'll be my heart and my music in death as you have been in life but I won't run and I won't fear it and I don't fear _him_.'

'STOP! Put it down!'

All three turned to face the door but it was only Erik who didn't look surprised or even bothered. Shock spread over Raoul's face as he stared at the door and Christine looked up terrified.

'Good evening, Detective.' Said Erik, smiling broadly. 'What took you so long?'

'Detective?' said Raoul, glancing from Erik to the figure in the doorway and then back again to Erik.

'Put the pistol on the floor, sir'

'How do I know…' Raoul began.

'My name is Detective Inspector Paul Sanders, I've been looking for you for days. Please sir, do as I say.' He said stepping forward but Raoul circled, moving away from Paul but maintaining his distance from Erik.

'No!' he said. 'You don't understand! He's a monster, a murderer!'

'Isn't that for the police to deal with?' asked Paul, keeping his voice low and calm. 'The gun…' he held his hand out and took another step towards the two men.

Erik was watching on in amusement as the events played out before his eyes. Christine was still sat in the corner, every once in a while trying to get to her feet but she had hurt her ankle with the fall.

'He must be stopped!' Raoul shouted. 'He must be!' he shook the gun.

'Then let _me_ stop him.' Said Paul, edging closer and closer.

'No!' shouted Raoul. 'I must protect my wife.'

'I'm fine,' Christine screamed and hugged her body. Raoul shook his head at her and then at Erik, who had not moved a muscle.

'Please, sir, the pistol.' Said Paul, pushing his hand further in front of him as he walked.

'No!' said Raoul, shaking the weapon violently, pointing it at Erik's chest.

Christine could do nothing but look on as everything unfolded in front of her eyes. It happened so quickly yet so slowly, Paul continued to move forward as Raoul held the gun high. The three men in the centre of the room, the gun aimed directly at Erik's chest. Everything was turning, everyone was moving. She began to cry again as the world stopped revolving at the instant Raoul pulled the trigger and the bullet tore through his torso, as he fell to the floor, as Raoul watched.

Everything was suddenly too much and her world went black.


	43. Tears for an Angel

**A/N: The end is near friends… thank you, as always, for the wonderful reviews! They make my day.**

**Amber: For goodness sake, add the next instalment!**

**Modesty: As always, thank you to you for boosting my ego :D – as for the French, if I were to have them answer in French is would insinuate that they did not know English and therefore I would have had to have Raoul ask the question in French … far too much French. I didn't want to over complicate it. **

**You are correct however, Je m'appelle and et vous/ tu would have fit here… 'my name is' and 'and you?' **

**I studied French for five years though my spelling is off my knowledge is generally still sound. If you would prefer that conversation in French I'm happy to change it ;)**

**Sbkar: I love you because you review every chapter and push my total up! Lol**

**Lost: Thankyou, as always!**

'_All that I'm praying for,_

_Is my voice finds her like a lullaby,_

_Finds her in the night,_

_Sings her to sleep.', – Lullaby _Lemar.

**Chapter 43- Tears for an Angel**

It seemed like she had been unconscious for an eternity, though in reality she assumed that it was merely seconds. When her eyes forced themselves open no one had moved at all, not one step. Everything was exactly as it was when she had passed out. The only difference was now she felt groggy, her head her and she could feel vomit rising in her throat.

This couldn't be happening. Hadn't she been through enough? But it was happening, it had happened and it was all laid out in its ugly mess in front of her as she sat on the floor of the warehouse. She glanced at Raoul who was still standing there with the pistol hanging by his side, staring at Erik in front of him. Christine didn't think that Raoul had even blinked and she had to look hard at him to see if he had been breathing.

It was obvious to her, watching him, that he couldn't believe that he had done it, that he had actually pressed the trigger down. Christine could assure him that he had, she could see that he had, she heard that he had. Something about the blast must have jolted Raoul from his insane state and brought him crashing back down because Christine could see him register the horror of what lay in front of him.

It was minutes before she could bring herself to look over at Erik. Her heart thudding desperately in her chest as she averted her gaze from her shattered husband to Erik. Raoul still didn't move an inch but the gun dropped noisily to the floor and the sound echoed in the sickly silence of the warehouse.

Erik stared down at the body of Paul Sanders lying at his feet, blood pooling around him. Paul had run in front of Erik in the hope that it would dissuade Raoul from pulling the trigger and killing his rescuer. And it probably would have stopped him had Paul's timing been better. Just as Paul moved, Raoul pulled the trigger and the blur of information and the horror of it all had caused Christine to faint.

He had fallen backwards with a jolt and landed by Erik's feet and with his last gasp, his last bit of energy he had grabbed Erik's ankle and said, 'Tell Jennifer I loved her until the day I died.' It seemed surreal but he had said it, he had known. His braveness had not saved his own life but the life of, for want of a better term, a criminal. And with his final words he coughed, wretched, blood pouring out of his mouth and eyes drooping languidly. He slid away, from consciousness and from the world.

Erik dragged his eyes from the detective and fixed them onto Raoul.

'You idiot.' He said, spitting poison. Raoul said nothing, how could he? He just stared at the body. 'You were foolish.' Erik said, shaking his head. 'But you were never a murderer, Vicomte.' Erik's voice was calm but frightening and Christine closed her eyes, squeezing a tear out, not wanting to hear his voice so harsh, the tones so icey. 'You've killed a police officer.'

'Yes,' Raoul whispered, acknowledging the fact to Erik and to himself as he nearly choked on his own word.

'You'll hang.' Erik snarled and slowly turned to face Christine. 'Can you stand?' he asked her and she opened her eyes to look at him, she was weak but nodded slowly. As she did she struggled and strained and finally managed to heave herself up.

'Give me the pistol.' He said and she frowned at him but hobbled towards Raoul obediently. 'Quick as you can.' He said, stepping to the side of the body.

Christine limped over and when she reached Raoul he turned his head to look at her and she saw the tears streaming down his face. Slowly and carefully she lowered herself and retrieved the pistol and she began to walk towards Erik. To her surprise he stepped back and held his hand up to her indicating that she should stop.

'Throw it.' He said, it was an order, not a request.

She looked at the gun in her hand and then up at Erik, his blue eyes catching the last of the moonlight and shining over the distance between them. Gently she bent down and pushed the pistol along the floor, it stopped next to Paul's body. Erik leaned down and lifted it up, holding it tightly in his hand.

'Only we three know what happened here,' he said slowly. 'That is the way it will remain.' Christine's face was masked with confusion and Raoul gradually snapped back to reality. 'I killed him.'

'Erik…' said Christine in a near whisper as Raoul's mouth opened into a gape.

'Shush,' Erik ordered and Christine, again, obeyed him. 'I did it in my attempt to escape. You need him, Christine, he is forever indebted to you.'

Raoul said nothing as Christine tried to walk towards Erik nor did he say anything when Meg Giry appeared from the shadows, tears rushing violently down her cheeks as she looked at the body of Paul Sanders. She had seen everything from the shadows of the corridor.

'Mademoiselle Giry,' Erik said, clearing his throat. 'Say nothing of this, it's important. Do you hear?'

'I…' she began and Erik raised a finger to shush her.

'Say nothing.' He said slowly. 'It was me.'

She nodded and tears shook from her cheeks as she ran to her friend, throwing her arms around her, holding her tight. Meg sobbed, Christine cried and Raoul stood, dumb founded, to the spot.

'Paul!' came the scream Erik had been waiting for and he stepped away from the lifeless body towards the door, allowing Jennifer to collapse on her husband. 'No, no!'

Christine simply allowed the tears to mar her beautiful face as she watched Jennifer cling to Paul. Meg couldn't watch at all, she buried her face in Christine's neck wetting it with her own salty tears.

'No, no, no…' she cried. 'Paul, no… no…' her heart was breaking. 'Monster, murderer.' She cried looking up at Erik, who calmly stepped closer to the door. 'No, no… please, no… my love, no…' She hadn't seen a thing and as she lay on her husband, willing him to open his eyes Erik edged closer to the exit.

Thomas Fellows was the last person to arrive, darting from the darkness of the corridor into the poorly lit main hall. His pace was quick and he was out of breath when he stopped.

'I heard a sh…' he began but stopped when he noticed his partner and her wife on the floor, Jennifer weeping and Paul bleeding. He glanced at Erik and began to walk towards him, rush towards him, but Erik raised the pistol as if it were reloaded.

'Stop!' he said, firmly. 'No closer.' He skirted towards the exit. Thomas stopped in his tracks and glared at him.

'You're under arrest.' He said, choking on his own bile.

'I would be.' Said Erik, coolly. 'If you could get near me' Erik's own heart wretched. If only Thomas knew that Erik could never kill Paul Sanders, could never shoot a man who had done nothing to deserve it. Erik knew that Thomas would hate him until the end of his days and probably even longer.

Thomas stared disbelieving at the scene, at Raoul, Christine and Meg, beautiful Meg. Then over to Jennifer whose cries echoed harshly around the room, bouncing from the walls and crushing his heart with every whimper. She had her lips on his throat, calling his name. Then softly whispering ' no, God, no' over and over into Paul's pale neck. And then Thomas swallowed hard and took a good look at his partner's body whole in front, blood behind and around him. As he fought away the tears which clung to his eyes all Thomas could think of was Paul's two children, his two boys. They had no father, he had been cruelly taken from them and they would have to live the rest of their lives in the knowledge that his work killed him. Thomas coughed back a sob, trying to remain composed.

'I'm leaving now…' said Erik, he was talking to Raoul, he was looking at Raoul. 'There are conditions to this _boy_.' He said and Raoul rubbed his neck with his left hand. 'Tell her everything' He said firmly. 'You are to tell her about everything.' Raoul stood aghast and Erik fought the urge to grab his throat and kill him. 'I know you understand so try not to look so _stupid_.'

Christine frowned and Raoul nodded slowly, he understood.

'No one follows me.' He continued calmly. 'Anyone who does I will kill on the spot.' His eyes drifted to Christine. 'That includes you.'

She nodded but something in her willed her to move and she suppressed it hard, she knew that he meant it. She knew Erik well. Erik looked at her for the last time, allowing his eyes to follow the line of her body, taking her in fully, finally. He had to drag his eyes against their will from her and over to Thomas who met his eyes with a steely glare.

'There is a body upstairs.' He said. 'And a girl gagged and bound but perfectly well. Send her my love, won't you?' and with that he was out of the door.

Thomas looked at Christine and then Raoul before bounding off after Erik, out of the door and into the cold air. The sun was beginning to appear on the horizon and lighten the earth but there was no Erik. He looked around him, from side to side, he looked up, down to the roof and the floor but he was gone. Thomas looked to the sky and sighed a long sigh before finally collapsing to his knees and crying for his partner, crying for the children and for Jennifer, crying for his friend.


	44. Ending one

**A/N: I'm so sorry for leaving this so long. I have injured my back and find it difficult to sit at the computer. **

**It's nearly over… Alternative endings begin here. I will post two chapter 44's … read both and run with which ever you like best or suits you.**

**The ending is supposed to be slightly ambiguous.**

**Then tell me which you prefer and I will write a final chapter based on that entry.**

'_I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone. _

_But though you're still with me,_

_I've been alone all alone.' –_ My Immortal, Evanesence.

**Chapter 44- Ending one.**

The gusts of wind came hard and often, nearly blowing the mourners clear off their feet. The day was made for a funeral, the rain was pouring like a waterfall from the skies, battering the poor bodies of those brave enough to attend. The wind was howling around the large church building in the centre of Paris, making more noise than the guests could hear over. It sounded like the gargoyles around its roof were crying too.

Meg clung, weeping, to Thomas' side and he stood firm and calm, arm around her to hold her steady. They had been officially courting for nearly two months and she was happy with him, happier than Christine had seen her in a long time. As she looked over at Meg she felt Raoul's arm drape protectively around her shoulders and she reached up to hold his hand. Meg had barely looked at him since that day in the warehouse and she could hardly stand being in his presence. It was the reason that Christine stood so far from her friend when she really want to be gripping her hand tightly and telling her everything was okay.

That day had changed all of their lives completely. It meant that Thomas' relationship with Meg had gotten off on a lie and it seemed that was the way it would remain, at the request of the infamous Phantom. Somehow Meg had gained an overwhelming respect for him and her disdain for Raoul was barely hidden under a façade of politeness if good company. Otherwise she had avoided her. Christine felt the strain too as Meg shot her looks which begged the question, 'How can you stay with that murderer?'. It always made Christine smile ruefully to herself. Swap one murderer for another she thought.

Jennifer had been in a terrible mess for the past two months and her mother had taken the children in while she was recovering. Her grieving was fierce and her hatred of Erik powerful in her words if she ever spoke about him. Part of Christine wished that Jennifer knew. Erik had been more of an angel than he had ever been before that day as he took the blame the Raoul's foolish mistake, his heart breaking mistake. He had saved Christine from a life of hate and not for the first time.

She was finding it difficult to be with Raoul, to talk to Raoul, because of what she knew but she swallowed it and continued as if things were normal. It seemed her husband had suddenly found a new affection for her.

As she glanced down once more at the coffin her mind drifted to when they had heard the news.

When Meg had found her mother in her favourite seat by the fire she looked so peaceful that she knew immediately that she had finally passed away. As she walked over she saw that her Madame Giry was grasping a piece of expensive paper in her right hand. Meg had lifted it from her and read the note.

'_Dear Antoinette, _

_It appears that my flight has left those in England much to talk about. Do you think they will give up the search? Or do you think that they will forever seek me? My, my, I feel like the Scarlet Pimpernel_

_I will not leave you an address for me other than to tell you that I am back in France and very well. I know that you will not respond anyway. This will be our final correspondence I am sure of it. _

_It pains me to think that I will never see you again or have the opportunity to tell you personally how truly wonderful you have been to me. You have been my humanity. You have been my tower of strength and for that I am eternally grateful. _

_Perhaps while you are in heaven you can put in a good word for me. Over the last couple of months I have done some rather altruistic acts for which I have taken no credit. _

_I hope that everything left for you will be quiet and painless, I will pray for you. Yes, I will. Even I have belief. I have faith. Mostly in you, but it is faith none the less. I want to ask you so much about Christine but I fear that it will lead me to leave you a return address and I cannot do that for obvious reasons. _

_If you see her tell her how desperately I love her and that I did it all for her. Everything. _

_And Antoinette, my dear confidante, know the tears I have shed for you. Know that I have thought of you long and often and that one day I shall knock on your door in heaven if only to stay for a minute. _

_Goodnight and goodbyedear Madame Giry, _

_Always your humble friend, _

_Forever your obedient servant,_

_Eternally,_

_Erik __'_

With that Meg had fallen to the floor and sobbed until Thomas found her over an hour later. He had been such a help to her. Meg had let Christine read the letter which made Christine cry for everything she had lost and everything she had gained in her life. But mostly it made her cry for Erik, for her angel, for their music.

The wind pushed hard against her back shocking her back to reality and she leaned against it to stop herself from falling. She forced herself to stay up right and took another glance at Meg, who was overcome with grief. Poor Meg, Christine thought as her eyes drifted over the stones of the cemetery. She looked over at the beautiful church and smiled softly to herself. Raoul's arm was warming her blood and it gave her some comfort but there was no comfort like that she felt as she blew a kiss to the gargoyle at the top on the church and caught the kiss that he blew back.


	45. Ending two

**A/N: Ending two**

'_I don't want the world to see me,_

'_Cos I don't think that they'd understand,_

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am'_- Iris, Goo Goo Dolls

**Beautiful song… so suited to Erik**.

**I'll tell you which chapter I prefer in the 'epilogue' let me know which I should use…**

**Chapter 44- Ending two**

The room was large and dark, penetrated by small wisps of candle light floating around. It was damp, as it always had been, and covered in dust. The organ was in pieces on the floor when he had arrived and it had taken him nearly a month to rebuild it. It would take him longer to get the rest back up to the way he once had it.

His eyes drifted over the lake and to the boat, which was half sunk from holes caused by rot. He knew that he would have to fix that soon but for now there was no need. There was no rush in his life anymore. He walked around with his glass of water at his lips and sipped it gently, letting it slide down and soothe his aching throat. He had found it strangely comforting to be back.

Erik gently collapsed back into the seat he had made and snuggled himself into it, warming his body. The paper on his lap was dotted with notes and words, music for his opera, music for his angel. The last two months had given him much food for thought and even more to write about, finally something had made him want to sing again. His sadness made good music and for that he had only one person to thank.

He leaned forward putting the paper to one side and picking up another, also dotted but not with notes. This piece had only words. He had written it the day before and planned to send it later that day, his focused on the letters. He needed a way to finish it, to sum up the way he felt. He just wasn't sure how he would properly construe his feelings, it was strange territory for him. He read it silently to himself.

'_Dear Antoinette, _

_It appears that my flight has left those in England much to talk about. Do you think they will give up the search? Or do you think that they will forever seek me? My, my, I feel like the Scarlet Pimpernel_

_I will not leave you an address for me other than to tell you that I am back in France and very well. I know that you will not respond anyway. This will be our final correspondence I am sure of it. _

_It pains me to think that I will never see you again or have the opportunity to tell you personally how truly wonderful you have been to me. You have been my humanity. You have been my tower of strength and for that I am eternally grateful. _

_Perhaps while you are in heaven you can put in a good word for me. Over the last couple of months I have done some rather altruistic acts for which I have taken no credit. _

_I hope that everything left for you will be quiet and painless, I will pray for you. Yes, I will. Even I have belief. I have faith. Mostly in you, but it is faith none the less. I want to ask you so much about Christine but I fear that it will lead me to leave you a return address and I cannot do that for obvious reasons. _

_If you see her tell her how desperately I love her and that I did it all for her. Everything. '_

He smiled as a tear dripped from hid jaw onto the paper, smudging the ink of her name. He was afraid that the letter might not make it to her before she passed but he hoped that she knew he was thinking of her. He picked up his pen, leaning over the paper and began to write again.

'_And Antoinette, my dear confidante, know the tears I have shed for you. Know that I have thought of you long and often and that one day I shall knock on your door in heaven if only to stay for a minute. _

_Goodnight and goodbye dear Madame Giry, _

_Always your humble friend, _

_Forever your obedient servant,_

_Eternally,_

_Erik'_

He nodded, it sounded right. It was short but it was right. He reached over and picked up an envelope, folded the paper in half and slotted it in. He placed it on the table and returned to his chair, thinking he would put his seal on it later.

As his eyes closed, he began to drift to sleep the strangest thing happened. He thought that he heard a noise from inside his home. As he delved deeper into his own subconscious the sound was there again and his eyes flew open. He stood up and spun around in time to see the shadow of a woman walking in his direction. He didn't need her to speak to know who it was.

'Christine,' he whispered softly into the air and she walked closer to him, smiling softly.

'I knew you would be here,' she said, stopping less than a foot away from his body. Erik simply stared at her, thinking that she might be an apparition, afraid to talk to her, to make a fool of himself. Perhaps he was finally losing his mind. 'I just knew you would.'

She stepped closer and Erik positioned himself behind the chair, so that it was blocking her path to him. She stood still and let her eyes drift over his figure standing in front of her and then she surveyed the room.

'It's such a mess…' she said out loud but he knew she had meant to keep it to herself.

'Yes… they destroyed it.' He said, quietly. 'And my piano.'

She looked up at him, mouth open and eyes wide as he nodded to her slowly.

'I fixed it…' he continued, he realised he was over talking.

'How are you?' she asked him, standing perfectly still, not moving her eyes from him. He glanced at her before staring back at the lake.

'I'm fine.' He said. 'Oh Christine…' Why was she torturing him so? 'Why are you here?'

'I need you…' she stated simply and watched him for a reaction. He shrugged and she felt her heart wrench hard in her chest. 'I…'

'No.' he said, voice booming but not shouting. 'I will not be your second choice.'

'Oh Erik, no…' she began but again cut her sentence short.

'I won't!' he said, the bile burning his throat, he wanted to gag. 'He told you and you came running to me.'

Christine looked at him, her eyes stinging with tears as she watched him collapse onto the seat, still refusing to look at her. Look at me, she thought, and you'll know.

'Told me what..?' she asked, her voice breaking under the strain of the situation. Her heart was crumbling as she spoke and it took all of her strength to stay standing.

'You know what,' he spat, his fury no longer under disguise.

'No…' she said softly. 'He told me nothing.'

'Don't lie to me, I told him to and he was too terrified not to.' He said, poison on his tongue.

'He was going to… but I left.' She said and Erik nodded but still didn't look up. 'I couldn't bare being around him, I've been living with Meg for a month, Erik.'

He didn't say anything, he simply stared at his hands.

'I couldn't get you out of my mind! I remembered so much… so much bad but so, so, so much good!' She let the tears flood down her face, he needed to hear this. 'Oh Erik! I should never have left to begin with! At the start. I loved you!'

He flinched but remained silent.

'I didn't speak to Raoul, I couldn't. I don't even know where he is. I can't bare it anymore.' She cried. 'Please Erik… listen.'

He stood up and paced past her not looking, not speaking, just thinking. He was angry, he knew that she could see it. And he wasn't sure if he believed her. He paced past her again and gritted his teeth, bunching his jaw muscles. He couldn't look at her, couldn't see her face so sad, he couldn't watch the tears. He just looked at the floor.

In a split second his mind was reeling, he didn't know what was happened. He felt Christine's lips firmly against his, her arms around his body pulling him close. The heat from her was unbelievable and it took him a moment to realise what was going on but as he did he slid his arms around her, his resistance slipping away. His lips moulded to hers and she groaned into his mouth, her tears wetting his cheeks. He held her tightly, exploring her mouth, it's moistness with his tongue. Had he died and arrived in heaven? Would God realise he had given his angel to the wrong man? The kiss lasted an eternity and it was Christine who broke her lips away from his, but held onto his body tightly.

'Christine…' he whispered, the sound barely audible. She shushed him with her finger on his lips.

'We'll deal with it when it comes.' She had read his mind. 'Everything from now on happens as it happens…'

He nodded, kissing her cheeks, her face, feeling her flush under his touch. She pressed herself to him and he squeezed her softly in his arms. She kissed him again, this time softer, slower and he felt every move, every twitch, every touch of her lips… _every _move. Her breathing on his chest her hands on his back, he was so alive. So alive.

'Christine…' he breathed into her mouth. And she smiled against his lips.

'No more talk Erik, no more words. Not just yet. Let's stay like this for a while, let me listen to you breath.' She said softly. She was still crying but it was different, the tears were real but they were warm and she looked happy, looked content. She was happy to stand in the middle of this basement, in the damp wrapped up in him for minutes… for hours, he thought.

He smiled as he held her close, her head tucked up under his chin, his doubts almost faded away with a kiss. And he struggled to find them again but they weren't there, he couldn't. Her body was too warm to resist, her lips to soft to not kiss. How could he send her away and never know what it was like to lay with her, to love her the way he had always dreamed. She was his heart and soul, his angel on earth and in heaven. This was heaven, this was paradise. Her heart beating next to his, keeping a rhythm he hoped he would never forget.

As he looked down into her eyes he caught their sparkle, their life. It would give him hope and dreams and the ability to keep living, to keep fighting. To be with her was to be forever in bliss. As his eyes fixed to hers, watching the chocolate melt for him he saw what was unspoken, what she didn't need to say. He knew. It was there, on her eyes, in his face. It was so simple, so gentle… but it meant so much. Her eyes were saying, simply, 'I love you'.


	46. Final: How the Mighty Rise and Fall

**A/N: Oh well, looks like this is at a close. My first ending is my favourite. I added the second one to see if I could pull off fluff. I am far better at angst. Please read this as the final chapter to Ending one.**

**I hope you like it. It's a little bit different.**

**Thank you for all of the reviews, I didn't expect to get two let alone over 90… though I doubt I will quite hit one hundred.**

**I will be back, rest assured, but I'm not sure how long it will be for phantom things. Maybe tomorrow maybe in a month but I SHALL RETURN!**

_Thank you all._

_'Call it over,_

_Call it gone,_

_Call it nothing,_

_See what you've gone and done.' –Kristian Leontiou._

**Final Chapter. How the might rise and fall.**

When I opened my eyes this morning there was a strange glow to the room around me. I wasn't sure if the glow was real or if it was my imagination but either way I could see it. It came from nowhere in particular, I can tell you that for certain as I searched and searched. It was just there. Eventually I brought myself to the conclusion that it was mind playing tricks on me, the end of an era, as it were, had brought me some comfort. I sat and sipped the water by my bed, it was oddly warm it the coolness of the room and it made me gag.

The room held me then, as it always held me, before the death and murders. It held me silent, disturbed me to the core and I felt it's loneliness despite the company it has seen over the years. However, as it disturbed me it freed me as it always has and, no doubt, always will. It is my home and my sanctuary, my only place of uninterrupted calm where I see the world as only I want to see it. As only I _can_ see it.

I stood up and paced over to the cabinet from which I removed my mask, it's cool ceramic calming my hands as I lifted it to cover my face. I smoothed it down, wet my hair with the water in the bowl next to it and smoothed that down too. Next I walked over to my wardrobe, pulled out two shirts, one black the other white and I stared at that for a moment. Black, was the decision and black it would be. I am mourning so many things today.

My trousers are getting loose on me again, I noticed as I pulled them up to my waist and fastened my belt, one notch tighter than it had been recently. Then I gently slid the shirt over my skin, feeling its cotton kiss my flesh as I buttoned the front. I decided not to tuck it into my trousers, I'm going for the casual look, I thought with a smile.

The morning was warm and so I left my jacket off and wandered through the backstreets of Paris barely noticed and enjoying the good weather. The sun blared down on me and I gazed up at the blue skies, uninterrupted by the insolence of the crowds and for the first time in my life and I thought that I actually appreciated the day time. The cobbles clicked beneath me and the sound made me think of a song I once wrote about the lonely streets of Paris for the lonely hearts of the people in it. I couldn't stop myself from feeling a little low at that point, it had finally hit me. I finally remembered properly what I was doing today.

Christine is gone, she is gone from me forever and I will never have her back, was the thought in my mind at the time. I will never see her face, her radiant beauty and her beautiful eyes. I won't witness that smile which lit her face, lit the room and lit my life. I won't find her one day standing on my doorstep, declaring that she loves me. Declaring that she sings for me, will always sing for me. Suddenly, the mask seemed to hurt my face, to trap my fears, never to let them escape. And it did. The mask, that is. It trapped my fears, kept that hidden because my only fear was that Christine would be so repulsed by my face that she would never look at me again. I feared nothing else and I fear nothing else now. There is nothing to fear now as I sit by the gravestone, staring at the name printed on the top.

The rose in my hand is blood red, so iridescent that I can barely bring myself to look at its beauty. I bring it to my lips and brush it over them gently, feeling the petals velvety texture washing away the coolness of my skin. I kiss the rose softly and hold it in front of me, looking at it, staring at it. I check that the ribbon it attached properly, I check that there are no marks on the silk, marring its blackness. Making it less stunning. There are no marks, there are no thorns and there is no imperfection. I look briefly around me to make sure no one is watching and then I gaze back at the grave.

Perhaps it wasn't our last correspondence I think as I place the rose by the stone and lift the letter from my pocket. With a wry smile I say my last goodbyes to Madame Giry, quietly I pray as I promised her I would. I pray that God keeps her in his true temple, next to him as his confidante, as she truly was to him. I stand straight and let the letter fall to the rose and rest by it as I turn my back and walk away. I wonder, as I leave the cemetery, if Meg will find the letter first and what she will think when she reads it. No doubt she will smile and tuck it in her pocket.

There aren't enough words on this planet to explain the thoughts I have, the feelings I hold but there is music. And that it was I wrote on the note.

Simply music.


End file.
